HEW  YORK'S 


NFE  RNO 


SCENES  FULL  OF  PATHOS  POWERFULLY  PORTRAYED 

—SIBERIAN   DESOLATION  CAUSED   BY  VICE 

AND    DRINK— TENEMENTS   PACKED 

WITH  MISERY  AND  CRIME. 


COMMISSIONER  &  MRS.  BALLINGTON  BOOTH. 


REPRINTED  FROM  AND  COPYRIGHTED  BY  THB  NEW  YORK  "  HERALD." 


NEW  YORK: 

PRINTED  AND  PUBLISHED  AT   THE  SALVATION  ARMY  HEADQUARTERS, 
in  READE  STREET. 

1891. 


CONTENTS    TABLE. 


PAGE. 

INTRODUCTORY  LETTER 5 

CHAPTER  1 13 

In  cheap  lodging.houses 13 

Among-  horrors 15 

A  touching  encounter lg 

CHAPTER  II 19 

In  cheap  lodging-house-;. 19 

All  one  to  the  governor 21 

Groping  in  the  dark. 33 

A  night  in  a  bunk 24 

CHAPTER  III 31 

Opium  haunts  and  resorts  of  thieves 31 

Where  it  was  dangerous  to  speak 32 

A  touch  on  the  arm 34 

A  scene  of  squalor 35 

Saloons  in  legions 37 

CHAPTER  IV 39 

Ever  moving  on  aimlessly 39 

Poverty,  then  crime 40 

CHAPTER  V 43 

How  to  save  the  sufferers 43 

Drink,  only  drink 44 

And  what  is  the  remedy  ? 45 

CHAPTER  VI 49 

Heart  chilled  from  the  start 49 

Inspecting  slum  nursery  babies 51 

Saved  from  despair 58 

Soothing  a  child's  grief 54 

iii. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

CHAPTER  VII 56 

Where  poverty  abides  always r>6 

Abode  of  the  drink-ridden 57 

Touched  unto  tears 59 

Poverty  beyond  description 60 

A  typical  s\ ory 62 

Sickness  beyond  hope 62 

CHAPTER  VIII 65 

From  shadow  to  blackness 65 

Baby's  long  wait  for  mamma 65 

Prayer  meeting —under  difficulties.    68 

Jennie's    story  70 

Visiting  the  dives 71 

By  the  wayside 73 

CHAPTER  IX 75 

Patrolling  the  streets 75 

Sunday  morning1  side-doors 76 

Deference  to  Salvation  girls 77 

Wreckage  of  the  night  tide 78 

CHAPTER  X 81 

Brave>  y  of  The  Army  girls 81 

Living  in  a  cellar  cupboard 82 

Baby  Jim 84 

CHAPTER  XI 86 

Glimpses  of  sunlight 86 

Taken  by  the  nursery  plan 87 

CHAPTER  XII 90 

For  His  dear  sake 90 

Christianity,  life  not  creed 91 

Saved,  although  a  tramp 92 

Hope  even  for  such  as  these 95 

ARMY  FIELD  STATE,  1890.    ..;..,,    97 


Valuation 

NATIONAL  HEADQUARTERS  :  111  READE  STRKET,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 


April  15th,  1891. 

It  could  be  readily  under- 
stood were  we  pleading  for  the  life 
of  one  condemned  to  die,  or  for  the 
pardon  of  one  on  whom  judgment  had 
already  been  passed,  that  we  should 

Y. 


NEW  YORKS  INFEKNO. 


experience  difficulty  in  finding 
language  to  express  the  feelings 
which  would  weigh  upon  our  hearts. 
We  are  not  at  the  bar  pleading  for 
the  life  of  one  or  two,  but  we 
strive  to  plead  with  the  conscience 
—  the  human  sympathy-- the  brother- 
feeling--of  the  happy  and  fortunate 
on  behalf  of  the  many,  despairing 
ones,  hidden  from  them  by  the  night 
darkness  in  which  they  live. 

It  is  no  easy  task,  with  the 
full  and  only  too  real  memory  of  the 
depths  of  blight  and  ruin  by  which 
we  have  just  been  surrounded,  to  even 
faintly  picture  to  others  what  our 
minds  and  hearts  still  vividly  see, 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


Every  form  of  vice  and  iniquity 
that  can  be  admitted  in  the  gap  be- 
tween theism  and  atheism,  between 
heaven  and  hell,  exists  in  the  un- 
derworld of  death  with  which  we  have 
just  been  brought  face  to  face. 

With  the  knowledge  of  this  we 
have  returned  to  prosecute  with  in- 
tenser  zeal  and  deeper  love  the 
work  of  lifting  the  fallen  and  sav- 
ing the  lost. 

It  must  be  action,  not  senti- 
ment; deeds,  not  words. 

Shelter  must  be  found  for  the 
weary  head  of  the  homeless  tramp. 
More  saviours  must  be  raised  up  for 
the  rescue  of  abandoned  and  hope- 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


less  women,  who  dwell  in  this  shadow 
of  death.  Salvation  must  be  pro- 
^claimed  in  love  in  the  ears  of  those 
now  filled  only  with  curses  and 
blasphemy. 

These  pages  will  fall  into  the 
hands  of  many  who  will  never  hear 
our  voices—who,  though  unknown  to 
us,  are  known  to  our  God  by  the 
beatings  of  heart  in  sympathy  with 
humanity.  To  these  we  appeal.  Help 
us,  that  we  may  better  help  these 
helpless,  loveless  ones;  and  of 
them  it  may  also  be  said,  *  I  was 
an  hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  meat  : 
I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave  me  dr  ink: 
I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me  in: 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


naked,   and  ye  clothed  me:   I  was 
sick  and  ye  visited  me.  " 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


MR.     BOOTH    IN    THE    SLUMS, 


WANTED-A  RIVER    OF  SOCIAL'  PURITY    TO    CLEANSE   THE 
LABYRINTH'OF  NEW  YORK  CITY. 


,E  have  read  how  Hercules,  the  mythical 
hero,  cleansed  in  one  day  the  stables  of 
Augeas,  King  of  Elis,  in  which  3,000  oxen 
had  stood  for  thirty  years,  by  changing 
the  course  of  and  leading  through  them 
the  two  rivers,  Alpheus  and  Peneus. 
But  such  a  vision  of  human  depravity 
and  hard  suffering  as  the  one  I  have  just 
witnessed  in  the  heart  of  this  great  city 
causes  me  to  yearn  that  it  were  possible 
for  a  river  of  Divine  power  and  social  purity  to  sweep  over 
it,  that  the  waters  thereof  might  cleanse  it  from  its  festering 
evil  and  cankering  vice. 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


With  faith  in  the  Latin  proverb  that  "  The  true  knowledge 
of  thing's  must  he  derived  from  the  things  themselves,"!  was 
disposed  to  withhold  any  very  pronounced  opinions  of  the 
baser  side  of  New  York  city  until  I  had  myself  had  the  oppor- 
tunity of  visiting-  some  of  its  denser  and  darker  neighbor- 
hoods. 

In  accordance  with  a  long  desired  undertaking,  I  with  two 
companions  —  an  officer  and  soldier  in  the  Salvation  Army  — 
resolved  to  disguise  myself,  and  in  a  rough  and  ragged  garb, 
which  I  was  assured  presented  a  most  unkempt  and  shaggy 
appearance,  and  which  wou'd  admit  of  my  passing  unsuspec- 
ted even  among1  more  dangerous  members  of  a  Bowery  "gang," 
I  spent  some  time  as  one  among  the  crowd  of  darkest  America. 

I  had  somewhat  prepared  myself  for  revelations  of  moral 
decay  and  vicious  life  in  this  social  quagmire.  I  had  heard 
again  and  again  what  one  and  another  had  said  of  this  plague 
spot  of  sin  and  death  and  I  had  seen  many  of  its  denizens. 

But  all  previous  accounts  and  descriptions  became  obliter- 
ated from  my  memory  by  the  surprise  and  horror  I  experi- 
enced when  passing  through  some  of  the  foul  haunts  and 
vicious  hotbeds  which  make  up  the  labyrinth  of  this  modern 
Sodom  —  I  had  almost  said  the  Inferno  of  America's  greatest 
city. 


CHAPTER  1. 


SORROW  BY  THE  WAYSIDE. 

IT  was  nine  o'clock  p.  m.  when  I  turned  into  our  headquar- 
ters on  Reade  street  to  change  my  dress  and  don  my  ill- 
fitting  and  tattered  clothes.  The  whirl  and  activity  of 
that  precinct  of  the  great  city  had  now  been  hushed,  and  a 
mantle  of  silence  was  thrown  over  the  buildings  which  a  few 
hours  before  had  worn  all  the  appearance  of  life  and  bustle. 

Leaving  my  watch  and  papers  with  a  staff  officer  I  sallied 
forth  with  my  two  companions  up  the  dark  streets  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Bowery.  The  wind,  by  no  means  strong,  was 
nevertheless  piercing  and  chilling.  The  darkness  was  thick, 
and  helped  to  make  more  glaring  the  electric  Jights.  Here 
and  there  a  policeman  eyed  us  curiously,  if  not  suspiciously 
from  beneath  the  brim  of  his  helmet.  On,  on  we  tramped 
toward  the  quarters  where  the  darkness  of  each  night  hides 
fiom  the  eyes  of  the  pure  and  good  ten  thousand  sins  which 
lengthen  the  black  catalogue  of  hell. 

I  had  not  to  wait  to  reach  the  Bowery  to  see  a  sight  which 
would  cause  every  pure  father  a  shudder  of  horror  and  bring 
to  the  cheek  of  every  true  mother  a  blush  of  shame.  The 
doors  of  a  low  saloon  at  a  street  corner  opened  suddenly  and 
two  men  stepped  upon  the  sidewalk  holdiner  up  a  young 
woman  by  her  arms.  Young  did  I  say?  She  was  not  only 
young,  but  fair  nnd  beautiful  in  face,  yet  awful  to  relate,  was 
so  drunk  that  it  was  with  difficulty  that  they  could  prevent 
her  from  falling  on  the  sidewalk. 

"  It  is  all  right,"  said  one  of  the  men,  looking  across  to  the 

13 


14 


NEW  YOBK'S  INJ1RNO, 


other  with  a  wink,  and  with  a  grin  upon  his  countenance  he 
signed  to  his  companion  to  turn  up  a  certain  street,  and  they 
disappeared  into  the  darkness. 

We  shortly  reached  the  Bowery  and  had  turned  from  its 
many  lighted  and  thronged  sidewalks  and  were  making  for 


COMMISSIONER  BOOTH  IN   SLUM   COSTUME. 

Water  street  when  we  beheld  two  half  clad  little  girls  come 
out  of  a  dingy,  low-looking  saloon.  Their  tiny  faces  looked 
blue  with  cold  and  pinched  with  hunger.  As  I  stopped  for  a 
few  seconds  I  overheard  the  elder  say,  "No  use  waiting  any 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  15 

longer,  he  won't  come,"  then  I  thought  of  my  little  three- 
year-old  boy  safe  at  home  in  his  cot,  and  of  the  thousands  of 
children  who  at  that  hour  would  be  tucked  snugly  in  their 
beds  protected  from  the  crushing  blight  and  degradation  which 
would  fall  upon  the  lives  of  the  little  hungry  ones  who  were 
running  past  us  with  bare  heads  and  naked  feet. 

AMONG  HORRORS. 

We  turned'into  Water  street — a  street  of  death.  It  was 
difficult  to  believe,  as  we  glanced  first  to  the  right  and  then 
to  the  left,  that  we  were  in  a  Christian  country.  Painted, 
dressed  in  bright  colors,  sitting  in  the  windows  and  at  the 
doors,  were  shameless  women  calling  upon  those  who  were 
passing  to  enter,  and  as  the  horror  of  the  surroundings  un- 
folded itsell  in  my  mind  the  words  of  the  sage  rang  in  my 
ears  : — "  Her  mouth  is  smoother  than  oil,  but  her  end  is  bitter 
as  wormwood,  sharp  as  a  two  edged  sword.  Her  feet  go  down 
to  death,  her  steps  take  hold  on  hell." 

Here  and  there  on  this  "dark  and  black  night  "a  man 
could  be  seen  to  enter  one  of  these  places  (aye  and  lads  ap- 
pearing less  than  sixteen)  "  as  an  ox  goeth  to  the  slaughter." 

While  passing  along  only  one  block  we  counted  no  less 
than  forty-eight  prostitutes  sitting  in  the  doorways  and  win- 
dows of  this  street  of  death.  Nor  is  this  quarter  (incredible 
as  the  number  of  women  who  were  soliciting  may  seem)  the 
worst  rendezvous  or  resort  for  fallen  women  in  this  precinct. 

Another  street — the  name  of  which,  for  the  sake  of  the  vis- 
its our  Slum  Brigade  are  successfully  making  there,  I  with- 
hold— presented  an  even  more  horrible  sight.  Standing  at  the 
corner  of  the  block  and  looking  down  the  street  I  was  dumb- 
founded— almost  paralyzed.  The  incessant  low  shuffling  of 
feet,  reminding  one  of  the  tread  of  fallen  spirits,  was  all  one 
could  hear,  save  the  low  whisperings  and  murmurings  of  tl'fi 


16  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

women  as  one  and  another  of  the  opposite  sex  passed  them. 

Oh,  it  was  awful !  As  I  stood  there  within  -sound  of  the 
footsteps  of  despairing  women  I  was  reminded  that  one  gen- 
tleman engaged  in  this  work  had  recently  estimated  that 
there  are  from  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  prostitutes  in  the 
cities  of  New  York  and  Brooklyn.  I  could  scarcely  helieve 
that  such  a  condition  of  affairs  as  I  then  witnessed  existed  in 
this  city,  where  so  many  Christians  have  of  late  soothed 
themselves  and  congratulated  their  countrymen  upon  the 
need  in  "Darkest  England"  being  so  much  greater  than  in 
Darkest  America. 

A  TOUCHING    ENCOUNTER. 

We  counted  along  this  street,  in  the  length  of  only  one 
block,  thirty-eight  women  waiting  about.  I  have  rarely  ever 
experienced  such  gratitude  as  while  looking  upon  these  poor, 
down-trodden  creatures  for  the  nightly  mission  and  vigilance 
of  the  Slum  Brigade,  two  of  whom  we  shortly  afterward 
quite  unexpectedly  saw  when  passing  along  Cherry  street. 

It  was  a  scene  that  could  not  fail  to  impress  any  man 
though  he  carried  a  heart  of  stone.  We  were  standing  upon 
the  threshold  of  a  large  saloon.  The  strains  of  music  and 
wild  mirth  fell  strangely  upon  our  ears.  At  a  table  opposite 
the  bar  sat  a  young:  woman  with  her  head  bent.  In  front  of 
her  were  glasses  containing  newly-drawn  liquor,  but  her 
thoughts  were  not  dwelling  upon  the  contents  of  the  glass 
before  her,  and  even  the  music  seemed  to  lose  its  charm ;  her 
mind  was  being  carried  back  to  vows  made  beneath  some  kind 
parental  roof,  and  her  heart  was  for  a  few  moments  directed 
to  the  goodness  and  mercy  of  One  who  nearly  nineteen  hun- 
dred years  ago  allowed  His  feet  to  be  washed  with  the  tears 
and  wiped  with  the  hair  of  a  fallen  woman. 

Around  her  shoulders  was  the  loving  arm  of  a  slum  sister, 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  17 

who  was  speaking  in  terms  of  gentleness  and  mercy  to  her 
of  a  nobler,  higher  and  truer  life  which  she  might  live.  What 
a  look  of  conviction  is  stamped  upon  her  countenance  as  that 
slum  savior,  on  behalf  of  the  Saviour  of  Nazareth,  deals 
faithfully  with  the  girl  in  the  midst  of  those  surroundings  of 
dancing,  revelry  and  sin! 

We  pushed  the  door  a  little  further  open,  and  as  a  woman 
rushed  to  bid  us  enter  the  other  slum  sister  looked  up — it  was 
my  wife  ! 

But  a  few  seconds  at  that  door  was  all  the  time  we  could 
spare  and  our  feet  must  hasten  on  to  other  and  yet  darker 
centres  of  the  great  city. 

While  making  our  way  past  coarse  looking  men  and  hope- 
less looking  women,  memory  recalled  the  efforts  of  these 
Saviour-like  slum  workers  to  me.  But  an  hour  before  I  had 
entered  their  quarters  and  shaken  hands  with  them.  They 
were  sparsely  f  urnfshed,  there  being  only  plain  wooden  chairs 
and  tables,  only  a  small-sized  stove  and  no  carpet ;  but  it  was 
scrupulously  clean,  and  I  could  understand  how  the  warmth 
and  brightness,  to  say  nothing  of  the  cheerful  and  saved  faces 
of  those  in  this  slum  home,  would  be  brightening  to  those  who 
had  to  walk  about  through  the  cheerless  night  without. 

I  recalled  the  bitter  incident  which  the  officer  in  charge 
had  related  to  me  of  the  miserable  room  where  she  had  found 
amid  extreme  squalor  and  filth,  a  babe  dying.  The  parents 
were  drunkards — there  were  two  other  little  children.  A  few 
minutes  after  she  entered  the  frail  infant  breathed  its  last  in 
her  arms. 

They  then  washed  the  infant  and  prepared  to  lay  it  out 
for  burial,  but  they  had  no  place  on  which  to  lay  the  dead 
child,  and  had  to  use  the  sides  of  an  old  packing  case  for  this 
purpose.  The  next  morning,  upon  calling  at  this  miserable 


18  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

abode,  they  found  both  father  and  mother  drunk — drunk, 
with  their  dead  infant  lying  a  few  feet  from  them  ! 

It  is  in  such  abodes  as  these,  I  recollected,  that  a  ray  of 
comfort,  truth  and  salvation  is  taken  by  these  slum  workers  ; 
and  as  I  drew  my  tattered  coat  closer  around  me  and  passed 
along  in  the  glare  of  the  saloons,  I  raised  my  heart  from  that 
benighted  centre  in  gratitude  to  God  for  this  branch  of  Sal- 
vation Army  work. 


CHAPTER  II. 


IN  THE  CHEAP  LODGING  HOUSES. 

FOR  some  time  it  had  been  brought  forcibly  home  to  us 
that  there  were  many  men  in  this  great  city  homeless 
and  shelterless  who  seldom  take  off  their  coats  and  boots, 
and  for  whom  there  are  few  lodging  houses  where  they  can 
get  clean  and  efficient  accommodation  and  quiet  repose.  Not, 
however,  until  we  saw  with  our  own  eyes  the  miserable  and 
tired  features  of  score's  of  men  walking  through  the  long, 
bitter  nights,  cold  and  hungry,  could  we  credit  the  in- 
efficiency and  discomfort  of  the  lodging  houses  for  out-of- 
work  and  homeless  men. 

Resolved  upon  gaining  some  personal  experience  of  one  of 
these  lodging  houses,  in  company  with  one  of  my  compan- 
ions I  presented  myself  at  the  small  narrow  pigeonhole, 
through  which  we  made  our  united  request  for  "  a  place  to 
sleep."  A  head  was  at  once  lowered  and  the  two  eyes  scru- 
tinized closely  and  suspiciously  my  long  form  and  then  the 
shorter  one  of  my  companion.  Their  owner  having  satisfied 
himself  that  the  two  applicants  were  sufficiently  rough  on  the 
exterior  to  be  allowed  to  pass  on  the  payment  of  ten  cents 
apiece,  opened  a  door  and  we  stepped  over  the  threshold.  But 
what  a  sight  confronted  us  ! 

I  drew  back  almost  bewildered,  wondering  whether  my 
eyes  had  not  for  once  utterly  deceived  me.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible that  into  a  room  about  20  by  25  feet,  filled  with  the 
smoke  of  tobacco  and  the  strong  fumes  of  drink,  so  musty 
and  close  that  one  almost  staggered  under  the  atmosphere, 

19 


'   frEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


some  sixty-five  to  seventj'  men  lay  back  to  back  huddled  to- 
gether on  the  floor  like  swine?  Some  were  fully  dressed, 
others  partially,  others  again  were  almost  destitute  of  cloth- 
ing. 

For  a  few  moments  I  and  my  companion  stood  as  if  riveted 
to  the  floor. 

The  man  having  charge  of  the  room  had  risen  from  a  low 
stool,  with  a  greasy  wooden  pipe  in  his  mouth,  from  which 
the  smoke  of  bad  tobacco  coiled  up  just  under  our  faces,  and 
opening  a  side  door  he  beckoned  us  to  follow  him.  We  did 
so,  but  slowly,  lest  we  should  step  upon  some  of  the  bodies 
that  crowded  the  floor.  Ten  cents  each  we  had  paid,  and  for 
tbis  we  were  to  be  favored  with  better  accommodation  than 
those  crowding  the  boards  at  five  cents  per  head. 

"That  is  your  bunk."  said  the  manager,  slapping  the  mis- 
erable covering  of  the  narrow  crib,  which  I  at  a  glance  dis- 
covered lay  in  rather  too  close  proximity  to  the  one  as  unin- 
viting beneath  it. 

"  And  that  is  yours,"  he  said,  turning  to  my  companion, 
pointing  to  another  as  he  twisted  his  pipe  into  the  opposite 
side  of  a  mouth  denoting  sternness  and  greed.  Then  the  door 
was  closed,  and  we  were  left  standing  amid  the  slumbering 
and  slumberless  inmates  of  that  lodging  house. 

ALL  ONE  TO  THE  GOVERNOR. 

''What  shall  we  do?''  I  whispered  over  to  my  companion 
and  at  the  same  instant  took  a  hurried  survey  of  the  sleepers. 
Hard  faces,  worn  features  and  sad  expressions  bespoke  the 
weary  and  too  oft  fruitless  hunt  for  work  and  the  cruel 
struggle  to  keep  off  the  gaunt  wolf  of  hunger,  which  struggle 
slowly  but  too  surely  kills  the  victim  or  drives  him  to  despair. 

Sleep  !  Talk  of  sleeping  in  the  poisoned,  loathsome  at- 
mosphere of  that  room  !  I  have  read  of  the  impure  and  fetid 


YORK'S 


SI    S 


NEW   YORK'S  INFERNO.  23 

air  which  filled  the  pestilential  prisons  of  those  incarcerated 
during  the  long  struggle  in  the  South,  but  it  would  be  difficult 
to  imagine  it  worse  than  that  which  I  breathed  in  that  stifling 
lodging  house. 

Having  satisfied  myself  that  the  surroundings  were  such 
as  few  even  of  the  lowest  type  of  humanity  could  endure,  I 
turned  to  my  companion  saying,  "  Let  us  go." 

"  Governor,''  I  said  in  an  undertone,  "  are  you  always  as 
full  as  this?" 

"  I  guess  pretty  nearly  always,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Well,  I  say,  governor,  I  think  this  is  too  full  for  us,  and 
that  we'll  go  elsewhere,"  I  remarked. 

"Say,  boss,"  chimed  in  my  companion,  "I  can't  stand 
this." 

"  I  don't  care.  I've  got  your  twenty  cents,"  was  the  gruff 
and  quick  reply. 

We  turned  away  from  the  door  into  the  piercing,  chilling 
wind,  which,  though  such  a  contrast,  was  preferable  to  the 
thick,  choking  atmosphere  within,  to  wonder  how  the  poor, 
penniless  tramp  must  feel  who  has  fallen  low  in  the  social 
scale  and  who  has  no  place  to  lay  his  head  save  the  meagre 
shelter  afforded  by  some  covered  truck  or  the  scanty  refuge 
of  some  dark  and  damp  passageway. 

GROPING  IN  THE  DARK. 

One  of  my  companions  who  entered  another  lodging  house 
related  the  following  to  me  : — 

"  We  arrived  at  the  stoop  of  the  dark  entrance  to  the  long, 
narrow  passage  leading  to  what  I  supposed  to  be  the  office  in 
which  I  should  see  the  landlord,  with  whom  I  would  make 
all  arrangements.  We  opened  the  door  and  walked  in  with- 
out any  ceremony,  but  I  found  that  we  were  mistaken — that 
it  was  a  room  occupied  by  tenants.  I  say  tenants  in  the  plu- 


24  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

ral,  for  there  was  a  whole  family — father,  mother  and  several 
children — that  lived,  ate,  drankand  slept  all  in  that  one  small 
room — only  a  room  about  16  by  18  feet.  Everything  looked 
dirty,  loathsome  and  repulsive.  We  asked  if  the  '  boss'  was 
in. 

"  '  Noo,  up  stairs,'  grunted  the  grizzly  looking  being:  that 
was  sitting  on  a  stool  sucking  a  dirtv  clay  pipe.  We  tvirned 
from  this  sight  and  from  the  foul  air  of  the  room,  for- 
getting to  close  the  door  as  we  departed. 

"  The  man  at  once  picked  up  a  lump  of  coal  and  with  an 
oath  wildly  hurled  it  at  us. 

"We  then  groped  our  way  through  the  dark  up  the  stairs, 
and  at  last  discovered  a  doorway,  at  which  we  knocked. 

"A  young  man  responded,  and  demanded  what  we  wished. 
We  said  we  wanted  a  place  to  sleep. 
He  replied,  'We  have  not  got  room.' 

But    a  feminine  voice  behind    answered,  '  There  is  room 
upstairs.' 

So,  with  an  old  lamp,    he  led  us  up  another  flight,  and 
knocked  at  the  first  door  he  came  to. 

"  There  was  no  response.  He  commenced  to  kick  at  the 
door.  Still  no  response,  save  the  cursings,  which  could  be 
heard  from  other  portions  of  the  house.  He  swore,  adding, 

'I'll  smash  the  d d  thing  in  !:  whereupon  he  lifted  his  foot 

and  began  kicking  violently,  and  then  put  his  shoulder 
against  it  in  an  effort  to  force  it  open. 

"  Then  a  perfect  pandemonium  reigned.  Men  and  women 
commenced  calling,  groaning  and  shouting,  '  Let  us  sleep.' 
He  paid  no  attention  to  them,  and,  while  still  pressing 
against  the  door,  it  was  suddenly  opened  from  within. 

A   NIGHT  IN   A   BUNK. 

"  Here   we  found  a  crowded   bedroom.     Our  bunks  were 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  25 

allotted  us.  My  companion  only  removed  his  overcoat,  and 
then  rolled  in.  I  hesitated  for  twenty  minutes.  The  bed- 
clothing  was  dirty,  and  to  use  my  comrade's  expression, 
'rotten.'  At  last  I  sprang  up,  lying  in  my  clothes.  Oh,  what 
a  night  of  moral  as  well  as  literal  darkness  was  that  to  scores 
of  people  around  us  in  that  overcrowded  building  !  I  over- 
heard the  low  and  vicious  conversation  through  the  thin 
partition  of  two  of  the  occupants,  a  man  and  a  woman,  in  the 
next  room.  On  the  floor  above  was  another  woman,  whose 
voice  seemed  to  indicate  old  age.  She  mixed,  in  a  foul  and 
dazed  manner,  religion  with  obscenity,  and  then  broke  out 
with  the  sentence,  'I'll  stand  up  for  the  captain  of  The  Salva- 
tion Army.' 

"  Evidently  the  slum  women  in  visiting  this  low  quarter 
were  recognized  as  doing  a  mission  that  called  forth  the 
gratitude  of  this  poor,  drink-crazed  mind.  After  a  few 
moments  of  silence  I  heard  shrieks  and  oaths  and  curses. 
Two  women  had  descended  the  stairs  and  gone  to  the  hydrant 
outside  to  draw  some  water  at  the  same  time,  and  were  in 
hot  dispute  as  to  who  had  the  first  claim.  They  quarreled, 
and  then  vile  language  followed  such  as  I  could  never  repeat. 

"  I  tossed  about  in  my  hard  bunk.  It  was  dark.  The  door 
was  fast !  The  place  was  stifling  !  But  a  worse  experience 
than  all  previous  ones  followed.  I  soon  became  conscious  of 
the  fact  that  the  room  was  not  only  dirty,  but  was  overrun 
with  vermin,  and  then  a  fuller  horror  of  our  situation  seized 
me. 

'•What  was  I  to  do  ?  I  lay  longing  for  the  dawn  of  day, 
and  I  do  not  think  I  slept  more  than  one  hour.  I  arose  as  the 
(list  streak  of  morning  light  fell  into  the  room,  and  made  my 
way  down  out  of  the  wretched  building,  bringing  with  me  a 
recollection  of  the  first  night  in  a  New  York  lodging  house 
that  I  do  not  think  time  will  ever  erase." 


26 


NEW   YORKS   INFERNO. 


Here  is  the  experience  of  another  lodging  house  that  was 
tried,  and  the  testimony  of  a  poor  unsheltered  man  concern, 
ing  the  place  : — 

We  went  up  into  the  office  to  pay  for  our  tickets,  and  as 
we  stepped  up  to  give  our  ten  cents  we  stumbled  over  several 
men  lying  on  the  floor  near  the  stove  in  a  dark  room.  It  was 
filthy,  and  covered  with  tobacco  juice.  The  man  in  charge 


"NO  THANKS  ;  I  WAS  THERE  THREE  WEEKS  AGO." 

did  not  give  us  our  tickets  immediately,  but  merely  registered 


NEW   YORK'S  INFERNO. 


27 


our  Christian  names,  and  led  us  up  another  flight  of  stairs. 
We  then  entered  a  room  where  there  were  forty  men  lying 
in  bunks,  one  close  above  another  ;  the  atmosphere  was  filled 
with  the  smell  of  vile  tobacco,  drink  and  that  almost  un. 
bearable  odor  coming  from  the  herding  of  many  men  to- 
gether whose  personal  habits  are  filthy.  The  men  themselves 
were  almost  stripped,  and  their  clothes  thrown  -about  in 
heaps  in  all  directions.  We  couldn't  remain  in  so  filthy  a 
place. 


A   FIVE-CENT  DOUBLE  DECKER. 


We  returned  down  stairs,  secured  our  tickets  from  the 
man  in  charge,  and  had  hardly  reached  the  sidewalk  before. 


28  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

we  met  a  man  whose  appearance  bespoke  utter  destitution 
and  poverty.  We  inquired  of  him  as  to  how  he  was  fixed  up 
for  the  night.  He  said  he  expected  to  walk  the  streets  all 
night,  and  we  at  once  handed  him  one  of  the  tickets. 

He  eagerly  took  it,  and  looked  at  the  number ;  then  to  ovir 
surprise  immediately  handed  it  back,  saying,  "No,  thank  you; 
I  am  clean  now,  and  that  is  a  filthy,  lou^y  place." 

We  asked  Mm  how  long  he  had  been  without  employment 
and  a  place  to  sleep.  He  replied,  "For  two  weeks."  We  then 
inquired  whether  he  drank.  He  said  that  he  had  sworn  off  at 
Christmas,  and  that  he  had  not  touched  a  drop  of  liquor  since 
then.  We  then  asked  whether  as  soon  as  he  had  found  em- 
ployment he  would  turn  to  drink  again.  He  answered  with 
a  ring  of  sincerity  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  never  touch  another  drop  of  beer,  supplementing  his 
answer  with  an  oath. 

We  then  inquired,  "What  is  your  nationality?"  He 
answered,  "I  am  an  American." 

"  So  am  I,"  my  companion  replied  ;  "give  me  your  hand." 

He  said  that  he  had  been  in  search  of  work  for  two  months, 
and  that  he  had  nothing  but  .an  occasional  job  of  cleaning 
sidewalks.  He  explained  in  sad  and  despairing  tones  that  he 
had  remained  in  mission  halls  and  Salvation  Army  barracks 
until  half-past  ten  and  eleven  o'clock,  and  had  then  to  turn 
out  to  walk  the  cold  and  pitiless  streets  penniless  and  homeless 
all  night.  Let  it  be  remembered  that  he  thought  that  those 
to  whom  he  was  speaking  were  such  as  himself. 

We  talked  on  while  we  stood  close  to.  the  lodging  house 
which,  before  he  would  enter,  he  vowed  he  would  rather 
walk  till  his  overtired  body  dropped.  "I  am  clean,"  he  said, 
"if  nothing  else.  I  was  there  one  night  three  weeks  ago,  and 
I  was  covered  with  filth  and  vermin,  and  J  swore  I'd  never 
cross  its  doors  again," 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


29 


Before  leaving  him  we  dealt  with  him  about  his  soul,  but 
received  the  answer,  "I  don't  have  much  time  to  think  about 
it;  it  keeps  a  fellow  always  going  to  keep  one's  body  alive." 

We  bid  our  new  acquaintance  good-bye,  and  ah  !  how 
loth  we  were  to  leave  him  to  the  mercy  of  the  cold  and 
heartless  night;  how  we  wished  our  Salvation  Army  Shelters 
were  opened,  and  that  we  had  some  warm,  comfortable  place 
to  which  we  could  have"  invited  this  poor,  nnbefriended  fellow 
countryman  ! 


GIVING  AWAY  A  LODGING  TICKET  — "  TANKE,  SIR  !" 

We  jostled  along  a  little  further  until   we  ran  across  an. 


30  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

aged  and  crippled  man.  I  wish  our  plentifully  clothed 
fallow  citizens  could  have  looked  but  for  a  few  moments  upon 
that  dejected  and  pitiful  object.  A  few  loose  and  foul  rags 
hung  from  his  bent  and  crippled  frame.  His  hair  was  long 
and  matted  and  his  face  sunken  and  depraved. 

We  stopped,  and  holding  out  the  ticket  as  we  touched 
him  on  the  arm,  we  said,  "Would  you  like  a  place  to  sleep  to- 
night ?"  He  looked  at  us  with  an  incredulous  stare  and 
stammered,  hardly  above  a  whisper,  "No."  Then  he  clutched 
it  with  his  skeleton  hand  and,  chuckling  for  a  moment,  shuf- 
fled on  faster  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  III. 


OPIUM  HAUNTS  AND  RESORTS  OF  THIEVES. 

TT7HE  next  streets  up  which  we  passed  were  exceptionally 
JL      close,  with  high   buildings  containing  small  windows 
and  many  entrances  on  either  side.    There  were  very 
narrow  and  miserably  paved  sidewalks. 

"  What  quarter  is  this?"  I  asked  of  one  of  my  companions 
as  I  drew  nearer  to  him. 

" Speak  a  little  lower,"  he  replied.  "This  is  the  Chinese 
quarter,  and  perhaps  the  worst  portion  of  that  quarter,"  and 
surely  it  was  hardly  necessary  for  him  to  inform  me  of  this, 
for  the  next  moment  we  were  pretty  well  surrounded  with 
the  fluttering  gowns  of  passing  members  of  the  community 
that  represents  the  Celestial  Empire. 

Stop !  Do  you  see  those  coils  of  smoke  ?  Look  down 
those  stone  steps.  See  that  form— that  silent  being  bent 
over  that  small  light !  And  see  how  dexterously  and  care, 
fully  that  hand  turns  round  the  small  glutinous  substance  at 
the  end  of  that  long  needle.  What  is  it  that  makes  those 
eyes  brighten  for  a  few  moments,  and  absorbs  the  attention 
of  the  individual  looking  toward  the  point  of  that  needle? 
What  is  it  causes  his  eyes  to  dilate  with  expectation? 
Opium.  And  hundreds  of  women  in  this  city  before  this 
night  is  past  will  have  allowed  themselves  to  come  beneath 
its  baneful,  demoralizing  influence. 

I  could  not  help  but  wish  that  a  similar  work  could  be 
commenced  among  the  Chinese  portion  of  this  city  as  that 
being  prosecuted  by  our  indefatigable  workers  in  that 

31 


NEW  YORK'S  INFEKNO. 


section  inhabited  by  the  Chinese  in  the  city  of  Melbourne, 
Victoria,  Australia,  where  to  my  knowledge  a  good  work  has 
been  accomplished. 

We  wended  our  way  next  to  Mulberry  Street,  the  haunt  of 
desperadoes. 

We  reached  there  a  little  before  midnight — truly  the 
devil's  midday  in  this  benighted  and  drink-cursed  quarter. 
Here  we  found  crowds  upon  both  sidewalks  who  were  holding 
high  carnival.  The  incessant  swinging  of  saloon  doors  which 


AN  OPIUM  JOINT 

admitted  customers  to  hot  and  fetid  rooms  where  the  worst 
kind  of  liquor  is  sold,  was  conspicuous  on  all  sides.  One  had 
at  times  to  literally  push  one's  way  through  the  uncouth, 
vicious-looking  men,  and  past  low  women  utterly  lost  to  all 
virtue  and  sense  of  goodness. 

WHERE   IT   WAS   DANGEROUS    TO   SPEAK. 

The  number  of  lighted  windows  on  either  side,  story  above 
story,  showed  that  there  was  life  within,  and  that  instead  of 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


33 


the  residents  being  asleep  they  were  taking  part  in  the  dark 
revelry,  actuated  by  the  same  spirit  that  prompted  the  hearts 
of  those  who  were  slaves  to  drink  and  debauchery  without. 

We  walked  on  to  the  place,  of  which  one  of  my  com- 
panions said  : — 

"  Perhaps  more  crimes  have  been  perpetrated  and  murders 
committed  here  than  on  any  other  one  spot  in  the  dark 
city." 

We  had  no  detectives  or  protection  with  us  save  that  un- 
seen. I  buttoned  my  ragged  coat  closer  round  my  neck,  and 
drew  my  old  hat  lower  over  my  face. 


ROBBING  A  DRUNKEN  MAN. 

"Do  not  speak  loud,"  said  my  companion,  and  I  walked  on 
silently  along  what  I  believe  is  one  of  the  worst  neighbor- 
hoods I  ever  trod,  and  a  foul  blot  upon  the  good  name  of  our 
fair  country.  I  can  understand  one  writing  of  this  neighbor- 
hood saying  there  is  not  a  sin  in  the  decalogue  but  flourishes 
in  this  quarter,  for  if  the  stones  could  speak,  then  each  would 


34  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

have  to  record  some  dark  and  bloody  deed  committed  within 
the  circle  of  that  fever-stricken  and  pestilential  place. 

We  had  not  walked  far  before  the  loud  and  rapid  utter- 
ances of  an  Italian  caused  us  to  stop  on  the  outskirts  of  a 
small  crowd.  It  was  dark,  but  by  the  dim  light  of  a  nickering 
lamp  we  could  see  the  outline  of  a  strong  and  tall  man,  who 
was  being  held  back  by  one  of  his  own  sex,  while  a  woman 
hung  on  each  arm,  frustrating  his  efforts  to  attack  a  woman. 

It  was  the  woman's  attitude  that  particularly  arrested 
our  attention — a  woman  with  set  lips  and  brazen  expression 
holding  up  a  brawny  arm  and  clenched  hand.  They  drew 
nearer  to  each  other,  and  I  could  see  the  bruise  upon  her 
forehead,  and  the  plaster  that  hid  another  wound  upon  the 
side  of  her  face.  A  torrent  of  language  followed,  and  then  a 
shuffle,  and  the  Italian  was  drawn  back  into  the  shadow  of 
saloon,  for  two  policemen  carrying  their  long  night  clubs  had 
arrived  upon  the  spot.  For  us  to  stand  any  longer  was  only 
to  create  suspicion,  and  we  moved  on. 

A  TOUCH  ON  THE  ARM. 

A  few  paces  further  and  I  felt  some  one  suddenly  clutch 
my  arm.  I  looked  around,  at  the  same  moment  shrinking 
back  a  step. 

Who  could  it  be  ?  No  one  knew  me  in  this  of  all  places  on 
earth. 

Who  was  it — it  was  a  woman — one  of  those  dissipated 
creatures  who  carry  the  brand  given  by  society  all  through 
their  downward  career  to  the  grave  of  despair  and  death.  I 
looked  into  her  face  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  forcibly  with- 
drawing my  arm  I  turned  and  without  saying  a  word  passed 
along  into  the  crowd  saddened  at  heart. 

It  was  an  awful  place.  I  had  heard  our  slum  sisters  speak 
of  the  misery,  of  the  benighted  homes,  of  the  woebegone 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  35 

creatures  who  lived  in  them,  but  here  I  was  right  in  the 
heart  of  the  seething  evil  and  curse,  and  for  once  I  myself 
was  looking  into  the  faces  of  those  into  whose  life  scarce  a 
spark  of  joy  or  a  ray  of  hope  dawns,  except  the  mocking 
mirth  that  comes  from  hell  and  the  tantalizing  hope  that  is 
never  realized. 

A  SCENE  OF  SQUALOR. 

The  following  scene  of  wretchedness  is  but  one  of  the 
many  our  officers  witness  in  this  neighborhood  : — 

"  Up  three  broad  steps,  and  we  are  in  a  large,  wide  pas- 
sage, which  has  evidently  seen  very  much  better  days.  On 
the  door  hangs  a  white  drapery  ;  some  little  one  is  dead.  The 
dejected  form  of  a  woman  leans  against  the  wall,  apparently 
with  no  aim,  no  wish,  in  an  attitude  of  deepest  dejection. 
We  ask  her  what  she  is  watching  for.  Lifting  her  heavy  eye- 
lids, she  looks  at  us  in  a  sullen,  almost  stupid  manner,  but  all 
we  can  get  from  her  is,  '  Waiting  for  the  funeral ;  waiting 
for  the  funeral  1 '  and  those  swollen  eyelids  fall  again. 

"  We  leave  her,  and  mounting  the  stairs,  enter  a  little, 
dark  room,  almost  entirely  devoid  of  furniture.  We  pass 
through  it  to  the  one  in  the  rear.  It  also  is  very  small.  In 
the  centre  on  a  table  lies  the  form  of  a  dead  babe,  its  mother 
and  a  neighbor  sitting  on  one  side. 

"  This  is  what  first  meets  our  gaze,  but  as  our  eyes  get  ac- 
customed to  the  dim  light  from  the  one  candle  burning  on 
the  brass  chandelier,  we  see  there  are  others  in  the  room. 
On  the  right  hand  side  is  an  old  lounge,  and  on  it  lie  what  at 
first  seem  to  be  two  bundles.  They  are  the  two  little  broth- 
ers of  the  dead  baby  ;  one,  as  we  lean  over  and  look  into  his 
thin,  pale  little  face,  with  sunken  eyes  and  bloodless  lips, 
looks  as  if  he  must  soon  have  to  follow  baby.  Both  are  just 
huddled  up,  with  their  ragged  coats  on,  trying  to  keep  warm. 
Two  little  girls  look  wistfully  up  in,to  gur  faces  from  the 


36  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

other  side  of  the  room,  then  climb  on  a  chair  and  look  at  the 
still,  cold  face  of  the  one  they,  though  so  tiny  themselves, 
had  often  nursed  and  tried  to  soothe.  But  now  our  eyes  fall 
on  the  saddest  part  of  that  picture.  The  father  of  these  chil- 
dren lies  in  a  drunken  stupor  in  the  other  corner  of  the  room. 
All  goodness  and  manliness  gone,  there  he  lay  like  a  log,  un- 
conscious of  anything — drunk,  drunk  !  And  yet  the  wife 
tried  to  shield  him,  saying  that  he  had  sat  up  with  them  two 
nights,  and  was  so  tired  !  She  then  got  up  to  put  the  shoes 
we  had  brought  for  the  babe  upon  its  little  feet.  What  a 
shocking  sight  that  poor  little  creature's  legs  presented — 
white,  yellowish  skin  hanging  on  Io0g,  straight  bones,  with 
a  slight  enlargement  which  marked  where  the  knee  came — 
and  nothing  more  ! 

"We  talked  to  them,  prayed  with  them,  and,  promising 
to  come  again,  began  to  make  our  way  toward  the  door, 
when  the  great,  heavy  form  of  the  '  father '  slowly  rolled  over 
and  rose,  to  reel  round  once  or  twice,  stagger  into  the  next 
room  and,  fortunately,  sink  into  a  chair,  where  we  were 
obliged  to  leave  him,  and  leave  them  to  him  and — God." 

Some  distance  further,  after  we  had  turned  into  an  off 
street,  we  saw  a  motley  crowd  gathered  around  a  dark  door- 
way. Then  the  door  suddenly  opened  and  a  woman  stepped 
out  on  to  the  sidewalk  and  beckoned  with  her  bony  finger  to 
a  policeman.  He  stepped  up,  struck  a  match,  walked  in  and 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  Then  we  heard  a  slight  scuffle 
within  and  a  shuffling  of  feet. 

We  waited  some  seconds,  or,  I  should  have  said,  we  did 
not  go  away,  but  moved  about  so  as  to  avoid  any  suspicion. 
Then  the  door  opened  and  two  men,  whom  I  judged  from 
their  dress  to  be  detectives,  held  on  either  arm  a  poor,  help- 
less, besotted  drunkard.  He  was  an  old  man  with  sunken 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


37 


cheeks  and  torn  and  filthy  rags  covered  his  emaciated  body. 

"  Get  up,"  said  one  of  the  policemen,  using  his  long  night 
club.  The  man's  head  dropped,  his  form  leaned  forward  and 
his  feet  fell  from  under  him.  In  this  condition,  murmuring 
to  himself  half  aloud,  he  was  carried  off  by  the  detectives  to 
the  police  station. 

Not  a  nightly  occurrence  only,  nay  an  hourly,  an  almost 
momentary  occurrence  in  these  dark  haunts  of  the  great  city. 

"Come  on,"  I  said  to  my  companion,  "I  have  seen 
enough." 


A  WAIF  OF  THE  STREETS. 

SALOONS  IN  LEGIONS. 


But  the  saloons— how  many  were  there  ?    Hundreds.    In 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


Cherry  street  alone,  along  one  side  of  that  street  only,  we 
counted  twenty-seven  in  three  blocks.  And  mind  you,  almost 
every  saloon  was  crowded  with  customers,  the  majority  of 
whom  were  either  drinking,  shouting,  cursing  or  swearing. 

I  have  been  told  that  there  are  thirty  thousand  saloons  in 
New  York  City.  I  thought  the  statement  one  that  should 
have  little  credence.  But  after  passing  up  street  after  street 
in  which  almost  every  second  or  third  house  was  one  of  those 
polling  houses  to  destruction  and  ruin  I  can  no  longer  doubt 
the  statement. 

I  and  my  comrades  decided  to  count  the  number  of 
drunken  individuals  who  passed  us  during  that  night,  and 
within  three  hours  we  counted  not  less  than  fifty-five  persons, 
who  were  so  far  intoxicated  as  to  be  unable  to  walk  straight 
upon  the  sidewalk,  and  this  number  was  exclusive  of  those 
we  counted  within  saloons,  and  in  some  we  found  as  many  as 
five,  six,  ten  and  even  fifteen. 

Let  any  one  who  is  disposed  to  think  me  over-estimating 
the  number  of  these  resorts  or  coloring  my  description  of  the 
blight  and  curse  they  occasion  walk  along  the  Bowery  on 
Saturday  night  between  the  hours  of  ten  and  twelve,  and  if 
he  be  unmoved  by  the  scores  of  pitiful  objects  and  woebegone 
creatures  who  will  pass  him  within  an  hour  he  must  surely 
possess  an  adamantine  heart. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

EVER   MOVING   ON  AIMLESSLY. 

IT  is  growing   colder,  and    the    wind  blows  sharper   and 
keener.    A  glance  through  the  large,  brightly  polished 

windows  of  the  saloons  tells  us  that  the  hand  has 
reached  the  figure  twelve  on  the  dial  of  the  clock.  There  is 
a  sudden  exit  of  men  and  women  from  these  liquor  rooms, 
and  a  closing  and  locking  of  their  doors.  A  large  theatre 
is  just  emptying  itself,  and  crowds  of  men  and  women  are 
flocking  past  us  on  either  side. 

"  Now,"  said  my  comrade,  who  had  spent  some  years 
in  the  very  neighborhood  through  which  I  was  walking, 
"  you  have  been  told  that  there  are  few  men  who  have 
to  walk  about  this  great  city  without  home  or  shelter.  But 
what  you  will  se«  will  prove  a  very  different  experience 
from  what  you  have  heard." 

We  walked  a  little  more  briskly,  though  tired  and  lan- 
guid. And,  besides,  it  is  between  the  hours  of  twelve  and 
four  that  one  standing  or  lurking  about  is  liable  to  be  seized 
by  the  strong  arm  of  the  law  for  vagrancy,  and  having  no 
credentials  upon  us  and  only  a  few  cents  in  our  pockets  we 
thought  it  wise  to  keep  "  on  the  move." 

The  Latin  proverb  reads,  "  The  silent  features  have  often 
both  words  and  expressions  of  their  own."  True  !  And  the 
faces  of  the  men  who  passed  us,  looking  well-nigh  numb 
with  cold,  and  with  haggard  and  gaunt  expressions,  spoke  in- 
finitely more  than  words  of  the  wretched  and  shelterless 
night  that  lay  before  them. 


40  NEW  YORK*S  INFERNO. 

"  But  it  is  after  twelve  o'clock,"  I  said  to  my  companion  ; 
"  what  are  all  these  men  doing  at  this  hour  walking  about  ?  " 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  to  the  right  and  left  of  us,  with 
their  hands  tucked  in  their  sleeves  and  their  heads  bent  as 
though  they  were  looking  upon  the  sidewalk  for  some  less 
hard  place  than  the  pitiless  stones  beneath  them  to  lay  their 
weary,  aching  bones  upon. 

"  Will  not  these  men  have  some  place  to  sleep  to-night  ?" 
I  inquired. 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  my  companion.  "  I  have  been  one  of 
them  myself,  and  have  wandered  the  streets  regularly  for 
nights.  Let  me  take  you  to  the  streets  where  they  sleep 
upon  the  wagons  and  trucks.  Do  you  see  that  covered  truck 
there  ?  I  slept  in  that  very  truck  for  two  nights.  I  would 
have  slept  there  longer  but  for  being  disturbed  by  the  police. 
You  should  come  down  here  some  wet  night  and  see  some  of 
these  men  creeping  under  steps  and  into  dark  passageways 
and  under  trucks  and  wagons  for  some  shelter  from  the  rain 
and  protection  from  the  wind.  Ah,  sir,  it  would  make  your 
heart  ache." 

POVERTY,  THEN  CRIME. 

On  we  sped,  still  passing  scores  of  men,  some  of  them 
young  men,  apparently  strong  and  capable  of  work. 

Do  you  say  they  were  thieves  ? 

I  answer  emphatically,  "  No  /." 

Possibly  one  in  every  six  may  have  been  a  character 
rightly  designated  by  such  a  description,  but  the  mass  of  these 
men  my  companion  (who  had  spent  the  blackest  and  most 
miserable  part  of  his  life  within  this  precinct)  assured  me 
were  men  who  had  no  work,  no  purse  to  pay  for  a  shelter, 
and  no  roof  beneath  which  to  lay  their  heads". 

Speak  to  that  man  standing  at  that  street  corner.  Talk  to 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


41 


him  about  means.  Why,  he  has  not  the  miserable  pittance 
that  would  pay  for  a  night's  lodging.  There  is  not  a  dime  on 
his  person.  He  will  look  you  in  the  face  and  say  : 

"Give  me  work,  and  then  talk  about  money.  Give  me 
a  chance  to  earn  some  food,  and  then  talk  about  paying 
for  it." 

Some  of  our  field  officers  have  spoken  to  these  men  con- 
cerning their  future,  have  urged  them  in  loving  and  earnest 


THE  FIGHT  IN  FRONT  OF   THE  DIVE. 

terms  to  live  a  better  life  and  prepare  for  death,  and  while 
conversing  with  them  have  been  forced  to  say  mentally, 
"  This  man  already  experiences  the  existence  of  a  living 
death.  He  lacks  food,  and  we  have  need  to  give  him  the 
physical  bread  before  talking  to  him  of  the  spiritual." 
What  is  to  be  done  with  these  out-of-works? 


42  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

What  ought  to  be  done  for  these  men  who  spend  these 
nights  in  the  cold,  in  the  storm,  unsought,  unhoused,  unbe- 
friended  ? 

It  is  these  very  men  we  seek  to  help  and  for  whom  we 
propose  to  open  shelter  houses  where  they  can  receive  food 
for  the  body — plain,  good,  substantial  food— and  after  sup- 
plying their  bodily  wants,  we  propose  to  bring  them  within 
the  influence  of  that  grace  which  will  supply  their  spiritual 
needs. 

It  is  the  welfare  of  these  men  that  I  feel  unutterably  con- 
cerned about.  By  helping,  reclaiming  and  saving  one  of 
these  men  I  add  another  good  member  to  society,  and  I  better 
the  condition  of  the  community.  I  strengthen  its  safety  and 
lessen  its  dangers,  and,  after  all,  "it  is  the  welfare  of  the 
people  that  is  the  supreme  law." 

It  may  be  asked,  "  Ought  not  the  police  to  interfere  and 
prevent  them  sleeping  out  of  doors  ?" 

Let  me  assure  my  readers  that  the  police  have  more  now 
than  they  can  possibly  do,  and  the  courts,  too,  for  that  mat- 
ter. The  officers  of  the  law  have  again  and  again  assured 
me  that  their  time  is  almost  wholly  absorbed  in  looking  after 
these  poor  unfortunates. 

What  is  wanted  is  more .  suitable  and  efficient  accommo- 
dation, more  comfortable  and  inviting  shelter  for  these  men 
who  are  not  only,  and  for  some  time  have  not  only  been,  out 
of  work,  but  whose  efforts  to  obtain  work  have  been  fruitless. 


CHAPTER  V. 


HOW  TO  SAVE  THE  SUFFERERS. 

TT7HERE  is  another  phase  to  this  great  city  life,  and  one 
which  cannot  be  overlooked,  and  that  is  the  daily  trap- 
ping of  the  victims  who  have  dropped  into  its  whirl- 
pool from  country  life — innocent  and  unsophisticated  young 
men,  who  tramp  the  streets  to  find  a  lodging,  and  then  are 
herded  in  with  those  who  are  already  as  bad  as  human  beings 
can  well-nigh  be  out  of  hell. 

In  many  instances  they  have  fallen  to  moral,  aye,  and  to 
social  depths  before  they  have  time  to  realize  their  surround- 
ings and  appreciate  any  remedy. 

Repeatedly  the  girls  who  have  talked  to  our  Slum  sisters 
in  the  dives  and  drinking  saloons  have  said  that  they  had  no 
idea  of  the  place  they  were  coming  to,  and  that?  the  father  or 
mother,  far  away  in  the  country,  knows  nothing  about  it 
either  ;  that  they  are  hopeless  and  despairing,  and  brushing 
away  the  tears,  they  whirl  back  into  the  dance,  and  seem 
to  toss  down  glasses  of  spirits  to  try  to  blunt  the  edge  of  their 
misery  and  shame. 

Few  places  can  exert  a  wider  or  more  harmful  influence 
than  the  large  building,  to  the  threshold  of  which  I  threaded 
my  way,  on  the  Bowery,  the  name  of  which  I  withhold,  but 
which,  with  others,  is  made  conspicuous  by  a  notice  outside 
that  is  deceptive  in  its  character.  It  is  an  open  auditorium, 
fitted  up  with  tables,  to  and  from  which  waiters  are  ever 
hurrying  with  wine  and  spirits. 

43 


44  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

I,  of  course,  was  not  allowed  to  enter.  I  was  looked  upon 
as  altogether  too  poverty-stricken  and  dejected  to  cross  its 
threshold,  over  which  a  stream  of  humanity  was  incessantly 
pouring.  My  companion  turned  and  whispered  to  me  that 
hundreds  in  this  and  like  buildings  received  the  first  deadly 
poison  that  devours  and  destroys  both  body  and  soul. 

Further  along,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  same  street, 
was  another  building,  at  the  doors  of  which  a  man,  dressed  up 
in  a  manner  calculated  to  arouse  the  curiosity  of  passers-by, 
was  calling  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice  : — "  Step  inside  ;  Step 
inside!  Seats  all  free!  All  seats  free!"  One  glance  within 
revealed  a  large  room,  theatre-like  in  size  and  circus-like  in 
shape.  The  air  was  filled  with  clouds  of  the  coveted  weed 
and  the  strong  odor  of  drink. 

DRINK,  ONLY  DRINK. 

I  stopped  at  the  doorway  a  few  moments  and  glanced 
around.  Men  were  rushing  about  from  seat  to  seat  and  table 
to  table  with  bottles  of  all  colors  bearing  foreign  labels. 
Drink ! 

It  was  all  drink. 

It  was  drink  at  every  turn,  whichever  way  one  cast  one's 
eyes.  This  seemed  the  one  indispensable  source  to  which  the 
thief,  the  harlot,  the  criminal  and  the  murderer  turned.  If 
strength  was  needed  for  the  weak  frame,  if  nerve  required 
for  the  daring  deed,  if  solace  wanted  for  some  troubled  breast, 
it  could  be  obtained  at  the  same  fiery  source — drink  ! 

The  fact  that  alcohol  destroys  100,000  lives  in  this  country 
annually,  that  it  makes  70,000  widows  and  throws  100,000 
orphans  upon  our  hands ;  that  it  causes  500  maniacs  and  as 
many  suicides,  and  consigns  to  bur  jails  some  500,000  crimi- 
nals, had  no  particle  of  weight  with  these  heedless,  reckless 
souls. 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  45 


They  wanted  pleasure  ;  they  only  sought  to  appease  their 
lower  appetites  in  sin  and  debauchery.  On  they  swept  to 
drink  deeper  from  the  stream,  the  waters  of  which  carry 
putrefaction  and  death. 

But  I  had  seen  enough,  and  turning  to  my  companions  I 
said,  "Let  us  leave  and  go  home."  Ah!  welcome  word. 
For  but  for  the  grace  of  God  we,  as  others  who  walked  with 
heavy  and  tired  feet  on  either  side  of  us,  mierht  have  been 
homeless,  without  bread  and  without  that  for  which  we  now 
can  gladly  sacrifice  bread,  the  life  that  never  dies,  and  with- 
out which  the  soul  has  but  the  fearful  looking  forward  to  of 
the  death  that  never  ends. 

One  more  look,  which  brought  in  its  turn  such  pity  as  I 
have  rarely  before  experienced  for  those  whose  only  cathe- 
drals are  the  cold  and  miserable  streets  of  this  great  city. 
Though  I  had  seen  with  my  own  eyes  so  many  different  as- 
pects of  the  city  life,  yet  this  was  the  one  all  absorbing  phase 
— the  need  of  hands-of  rescue,  homes  of  refuge  for  these  un- 
pitied,  unreached,  unhoused  and  unchurched  fellow-citizons. 

Oh,  that  anything  I  might  say  might  arouse  the  sympa- 
thies of  those  who  have  wealth  and  influence  at  their  com- 
mand by  which  they  can  succor  and  uplift  these  hungry  and 
weird-looking  men  who  tramp  the  streets  of  our  Empire  City! 

AND  WHAT  IS  THE  REMEDY? 

Right  thankful  was  I  to  again  reach  our  Headquarters  on 
Reade  Street,  where  I  changed  my  disheveled  and  tattered 
clothes  for  my  Army  uniform. 

Still  more  gratitude  did  I  experience  when  reaching  the 
stoop  of  my  own  home,  and  though  my  dear  wife  at  the  same 
time  had  been  visiting,  in  company  with  the  Slum  sisters, 
other  haunts  and  centres  of  vice  and  sin,  taking  hope  and 


46 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


peace  with  her  to  the  hopeless  and  peaceless,  and  was  still  ab- 
sent, yet  I  did  not  grudge  an  hour  of  her  time — for  was  it  not 
that  for  which  I  had  just  been  wishing?  And  in  the  stead  of  that 
one  woman,  and  in  the  place  of  that  small  brigade  of  Slum 
angels,  I  could  have  wished  that  a  thousand  ladies  of  New 
York  City  could  have  entered  the  homes,  unadorned  by  purity 
and  unknown  to  peace,  and  that  a  thousand  men,  whose 
hearts  are  touched  by  the  love  of  humanity,  could  be  scat- 
tered among  their  disheartened  and  despairing  fellow-citizens. 
Will  this  day  dawn— this  day  that  shall  bring  joy  to  these 
heavy  hearts  and  brightness  to  these  darkened  souls  ? 

Oh,  that  God,  who  looks  down  upon  the  tangled  maze  of 
human  affairs  with  infinite  love  and  pity,  may  cause  the 
uprising  of  those  touched  with  the  love  that  filled  and  in- 
spired the  breast  of  the  Saviour  of  Nazareth — the  Friend  of 
the  poor,  who  was  not  ashamed  to  eat  with  publicans  and 
sinners — that  they  may  become  helpers  and  saviours  of  man- 
kind! 


MRS.    BOOTH'S    DISCOVERIES. 


PATHOS   AND   TRAGEDY   ENCOUNTERED  IN    A  NIGHT   TOUR 
WITH   SALVATION  GIRLS. 

AM  weary  and  stiff  and  my  head  aches  from 
the  sights  and  sounds,  the  darkness  and  the 
horror  of  the  last  twenty-four  hours. 

But  my  heart  aches  far  more  than  my 
body,  and  I  feel  the  crushing  and  weary 
burden  that  I  always  experience  when  I 
step  back  into  life  from  the  darkness  of 
death  and  damnation  of  New  York's  hell. 

I  do  not  see  how  any  woman  whose 
heart  is  capable  of  feeling — any  mother, 
any  wife — could  go  into  this  darkness  and  come  out  the 
same  as  she  entered.  I  feel  years  older  !  But,  ah !  how 
powerless  are  lips  to  describe  or  pens  to  write  scenes  which 
baffle  description  and  which  no  ink  is  black  enough  to 
show  in  their  true  colors. 

What  can  I  say  ?  How  can  I  begin  ?  And  how  can  I 
ever  hope  to  make  others  see  these  things  as  we  have  seen 
them? 

47 


48  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

It  is  indeed  a  hopeless  task.  But  if  a  brief  chronicle  of 
the  last  twenty-four  hours  can  convey  even  a  vague  idea  of 
Slumdom  and  of  the  life  work  of  our  slum  saviours,  I  will 
gladly  jot  down  the  lights  and  shadows  of  last  night  as  they 
pass  again  in  panorama  before  my  mind. 


CHAPTER  Vf. 


HEART  CHILLED  FROM  THE  START. 

IT  was  chilly.    Evening  was  falling.    The  pale  yellow  sunset 
made  the  muddy  streets  and  lengthening  shadows  all  the 
drearier,  and  the  biting  frost  made  us  wrap  our  shawls 
close  around  us  as  we  hurried  from  Headquarters  toward  the 
East  side  slums.   My  ragged  calico- wrapper  flapped  drearily  in 
the  wind  and  the  mud  splashed  round  us  at  every  step. 

Already  an  oppressive  sense  of  that  which  would  have  to 
be  faced  during  the  next  few  hours  made  me  feel  sad  and 
weary.  And  everything  around  us  seemed  so  cheerless  that 
we  shivered  at  the  thought  of  what  that  night's  frost  would 
mean  to  the  hundreds  of  homeless  ones  among  whom  we 
were  going  to  work. 

Cherry  Hill  and  its  surroundings  presented  a  picture  of 
busy,  hurrying  life. 

It  was  Saturday  night,  and  quarreling  women,  squalid 
children,  tired  men  and  dissipated  boys  jostled  confusedly 
along  the  sidewalks.  The  streets  were  like  rivers  of  black 
mud,  through  which  one  had  to  wade  on  the  uneven  cobble- 
stones, stepping  from  one  little,  comparatively  dry  island  to 
another  and  alternately  sinking  ankle  deep  in  the  filth. 
Heaps  of  rubbish,  numberless  wooden  hoops  broken  off  beer 
casks  and  refuse  of  every  description  ornamented  the  road- 
way. 

We  passed  quickly  through  the  throng,  recognized  on 
every  hand  with  "  Good  evening,  sister  !"  "  Oh  !  there  are 
the  Salvation  girls  1"  "  Good  evening  1"  "  Good  evening  1" 

49 


50 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


cheerily  came  from  the  women  standing  gossiping  on  their 
stoops,  and  from  the  policeman  on  the  corner  watching  sus- 
piciously the  actions  of  the  many  ragged  ones  already  be- 


MRS.  BOOTH  IN  SLUMMING  COSTUME. 

coming  quarrelsome  in  preparation  for  Saturday  night  brawls 
that  make  the  night  lively  throughout  this  precinct. 

We  turned  quickly  into  our  little  Slum  quarters  to  be 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  51 

greeted  by  the  bright  faces  of  the  five  Slum  girls  living  there 
and  working  lovingly  and  patiently  under  the  direction  of 
my  brave  companion,  Staff-Capt.  Bown.  We  paused  but  a 
few  moments  to  talk  together,  and  then  I  slipped  up  stairs  to 
the  nursery  to  see  the  sleeping  babies,  whose  weary  mothers 
would  soon  come  to  fetch  them  after  their  day's  work  was 
done. 

INSPECTING  SLUM  NURSERY  BABIES. 

Bright  and  cheery  and  clean  looked  the  little  room,  and 
peaceful  looked  the  little  white  faces  of  the  sleeping  babies. 
In  the  hammock  swung  a  six-weeks-old  little  one,  with  its 
blue  eyes  staring  contentedly  up  at  the  ceiling.  On  the  rock- 
ing chair  by  the  fire  was  a  tiny  girl.  Two  years  of  age  she 
was  said  to  be ;  but,  oh,  how  thin  and  wan  was  her  little 
face,  and  how  bony  her  tiny  fingers  as  she  clasped  them  and 
rocked  quietly  to  and  fro. 

Then  I  was  taken  into  the  inner  room — the  sleeping-room 
— and  there  in  their  little  cots  three  more  little  ones  were 
sleeping.  The  light  streamed  down  from  the  window  upon 
the  face  of  one  ;  and  as  I  lifted  the  little  red  blanket  back 
and  looked  at  the  tiny  face  there  was  perfect  contentment 
written  there,  although  the  little  one  in  the  few  months  of 
his  life  had  seen  sickness  and  sorrow,  want  and  hunger. 

But  I  quickly  put  the  blanket  back  and  crept  away  on 
hearing  that  this  was  the  most  fretful  and  troublesome 
baby  of  the  lot,  fearing  to  waken  and  call  him  back  from 
dreamland  to  the  world  which  worries  and  ruffles  so  much 
his  poor  little  temper.  I  turned  to  another  cot  where  a  six- 
weeks-old  baby  was  waking. 

Lovingly  he  was  taken  up  in  the  arms  of  one  of  the  Slum 
girls,  and  a  smile  flickered  on  his  baby  face.  Poor  little  one  ! 
His  mother  brought  him  there  hopeless  and  despairing  a  few 
mornings  since.  She  was  told  she  could  not  leave  him  on  ac- 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


YORK'S  INFERNO.  58 


count  of  sickness  in  the  nursery,  and  with  the  tears  coursing 
down  her  wan  cheeks  she  told  of  her  misery. 

SAVED  FROM  DESPAIR. 

No  home,  no  friend  to  turn  to,  no  night's  lodging,  no  food 
to  eat  for  four  and  twenty  hours  !  And,  alas  1  no  work  to  be 
obtained  with  that  little  one  in  her  arms.  She  pleaded  very 
pitifully  for  her  little  one  to  be  cared  for  while  she  went  out 
to  try  and  find  work,  and  added  :  — 

"  I  am  so  wretched  I  feel  tempted  to  cut  my  throat.  For 
what  can  I  do  ?  What  can  I  do  ?'' 

So  the  baby  had  been  cared  for  during  the  day,  and  she 
comes  for  him  at  night  —  not  knowing  where  she  can  find  a 
shelter  for  him  and  herself,  and  they  go  out  together  into  the 
chilly  night,  homeless  and  desolate  ;  but  she  presses  him  to 
her  mother's  heart  and  feels  comforted. 

We  came  down  again  and  asked  a  few  questions  as  to  the 
visits  of  the  day,  and  then  we  hurried  out  into  the  chilly 
streets. 

It  was  even  colder  now.  The  sunset  had  flickered  out 
and  darkness  had  fallen.  Ah  !  well  it  had,  for  surely  it  was  a 
fit  pall  to  cover  the  living  death  of  vice  which  held  high 
carnival. 

One  of  the  first  sights  that  met  us  as  we  crossed  the  street 
was  the  figure  of  a  tiny  boy  stooping  over  something  spilled 
upon  the  sidewalk.  He  had  been  sent  out  for  a  few  cents' 
worth  of  groceries  ;  a  string  had  given  way  and  a  package 
opening  at  both  ends  had  let  out  a  brown  stream  of  coffee 
which  was  mixing  with  the  mud.  Sitting1  down  upon  a  step 
he  looked  in  dismay  at  the  broken  package,  big  tears  rolled 
down  his  white  cheeks  and  a  howl  of  utter  desolation  broke 
forth.  Poor  little  fellow  !  He  could  not  have  been  more 
than  five  years  old  ! 


64 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


SOOTHING  A  CHILD'S  GRIEF. 

Instantly  my  companion  sat  down  upon  the  muddy  step 
with  him,  and  stopping  the  escaping  coffee,  folded  the  paper 
and  carefully  arranged  the  little  package,  while  I  untied  the 
string  to  fasten  it  for  her.  He  looked  up  with  blue  eyes  full 
of  surprise,  and  the  lamplight  flickered  in  the  big  tears  ready 
to  drop,  but  checked  by  wonder.  In  a  few  minutes  a  crowd 
of  boys  had  gathered  round  us. 

_    \\        tlli Q li     '. 


THE  WAIFS  SLEEPING  UNDER  A  WAGON. 

"  What's  the  matter  here?"  shouted  one  to  the  other. 

"  Oh,  it's  the  Salvation  sisters  picking  up  that  shaver's 
coffee  for  him." 

A  dirty,  mischievous  hand  grabbed  some  of  that  which 
had  already  been  trodden  into  the  mud. 

"Get  back,  you!''  shouted  another  urchin.  "What  do 
yer  want  to  steal  the  bloke's  coffee  for  ?" 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  a  third,  "that's  what  the  sisters  are 
doing  I" 

"No,  they  ain't!  They  don't  steal  nothing.  They  ain't 
thieves,  like  you  !"  came  back  the  answer. 


NEW   YORK'S  INFERNO. 


55 


The  little  package  was  fastened  up  by  now  and  securely 
stowed  away  in  a  pocket  of  the  little  fellow's  ragged  jacket, 
and  he  trotted  away  through  the  crowd  homeward  bound, 
but  fortunately  saved  from  the  warm  welcome  which  doubt- 
less would  have  greeted  him. 


TYING   UP  "THE   COFFEE, 


CHAP  PER  VII. 

WHERE  POVERTY  ABIDES  ALWAYS. 

WE  hurried  away  in  the  opposite  direction,  for  time  flies 
and  we  were  bound  for  an  hour  or  so  of  visiting  be- 
fore supper.  We  turned  in  at  a  door  upon  which  there 
may  once  have  been  a  bell,  but  no  bell-ringing  or  knocking 
was  necessary  now,  for  it  is  one  of  the  poorest  lodging  houses 
of  the  city — only  one  of  them.  Would  to  God  it  were  the  only 
one  !  But  there  are  many,  many  more  just  like  it. 

An  old  man  paused  as  we  passed  in,  his  tattered  hat  drawn 
over  his  face,  which  bore  unmistakably  the  marks  of  sickness 
and  vice.  As  he  saw  us  a  smile  flickered  round  his  otherwise 
grim  mouth,  and  he  greeted  my  companion  warmly. 

We  passed  on,  up  one  flight  of  dirty  stairs,  the  boards  of 
which  creaked  ominously  beneath  us.  A  fusty,  stifling  smell 
made  us  hold  our  breath.  Another  flight — the  air  became 
fouler.  We  paused  for  a  moment's  rest  upon  the  landing. 
There  was  a  large  ash  barrel  already  full  of  refuse  !  Another 
flight — it  grew  darker,  and  the  gaslight  below  became  indis- 
tinct. Yet  another  flight,  and  now  the  smell  became  a 
perfect  stench,  and  we  had  carefully  to  feel  our  way  along  in 
the  dusk.  There  was  but  a  flickering  of  faint  light  below  us 
as  we  waited  upon  another  landing. 

All  the  doors  were  closed,  but  we  could  hear  the  sound  of 
brawling  and  fighting  within.  Before  us  was  a  door  to 
which  we  groped  our  way,  and  then  began  to  ascend  the 
garret  stairs.  Then  we  were  in  pitch  blackness — not  a 
glimmer  of  light — and  the  air  seemed  about  as  thick  as  the 

56 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  57 

darkness  around  us.    The  stairs  were  very  narrow  and  we 
had  to  feel  our  way  by  the  wall  as  we  mounted. 

At  last  we  had  reached  the  top  of  the  house.  No  light  of 
any  description  was  there.  The  eaves  of  the  house  fell  low 
all  around  us,  and  although  it  was  too  dark  to  see  them,  bare 
rafters  were  over  our  heads.  There  was  a  door  in  front  of  us; 
we  heard  talking,  and  stepping  up  to  it,  we  knocked. 

ABODE  OF  THE  DRINK  RIDDEN. 

"  Who's  there?"  shouted  a  voice,  and  unbidden  we  opened 
the  door.  Directly  my  companion  was  seen  and  The  Army 
badge  upon  her  old  gray  shawl  recognized  we  were  gladly 
bidden  to  enter.  The  room  was  lighted  by  a  lamp,  the  glass 
of  which  was  smoked  and  broken,  and  had  been  patched  with 
brown  paper.  In  front  of  us  stood  an  old  woman  in  a 
tattered  black  dress,  her  already  gray  hair  matted  and 
disordered  and  her  face  bloated.  At  the  table  a  man  was 
working,  who  took  absolutely  no  notice  of  our  entrance,  and 
on  the  only  other  chair  visible  sat  an  old  woman  with 
a  market  basket  in  her  hands — evidently  a  neighbor. 

My  companion  was  no  stranger  in  the  room,  and  she 
began  at  once  to  talk  gently  and  in  a  neighborly  way  with 
the  woman,  who  is  a  hard  drinker,  and  yet  who  has  a  heart 
capable  of  being  touched  with  a  desire  to  do  better.  My 
companion  sat  down  upon  an  old  box  and  I  was  most 
cordially  invited  to  sit  down  upon  the  bed.  My  heart  sank 
just  a  little  lower  as  I  did  so.  Bed  clothing — at  least  as  we 
are  accustomed  to  speak  of  it — there  was  none ;  but  an  old 
quilt  or  comfort  was  spread  over  the  mattress,  and  I  saw 
enough  at  one  glance  to  make  me  turn  away  and  try  to 
forget  that  I  had  taken  my  seat  there. 

I  watched  the  flickering  of  the  lamplight  on  the  two 
faces — one  so  pure  and  good,  the  other  so  bloated  and  sin 


58 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERUO. 


NEW    YORK'S  INFERNO  59 

spoiled.  My  companion  was  pleading  with  her  patiently, 
lovingly;  trying  to  get  the  truth  into  her  poor,  befogged 
mind  ;  and  while  they  talked  I  glanced  around  the  room. 

It  was  a  very  small  garret  apartment ;  the  beams  ran  low 
and  there  was  no  pretence  at  paint  or  plaster.  In  every  di- 
rection the  walls  and  ceilings  were  draped  with  cobwebs.  It 
looked  as  if  hundreds  of  busy  spiders  had  been  at  work  for 
generations  past.  Across  the  window  an  old  rag  hung 
which  might  possibly  be  dignified  by  the  name  of  curtain. 
We  could  hear  the  sound  of  shouting  and  riot  in  the  streets, 
and  I  wondered  why  it  was  so  distinct — as  the  window  did 
not  seem  made  to  opeu,  and  then  I  noticed  that  some  panes 
were  gone,  and  the  cold  night  air — proving  a  blessing  in 
disguise— could  be  felt  through  the  otherwise  stifling  at- 
mosphere. 

TOUCHED  UNTO  TEARS. 

"  Will  you  sing  to  me?"  I  heard  the  woman  say,  and  then 
all  was  still  while  we  sang  : — 

Your  garments  must  be  white  as  snow, 

Prepare  to  meet  your  God. 
For  to  His  throne  we  all  must  go, 

Prepare  to  meet  thy  God. 
Prepare  me,  prepare  me,  Lord,  to  stand  before  Thy  Throne. 

I  watched  the  change  upon  her  face  ;  tears  welled  up  into 
her  eyes,  and  then  slowly  coursed  down  her  cheeks.  We 
knelt  down  to  pray,  and  then  turned  away  from  the  wretched 
room  where  drink  had  made  such  havoc,  feeling  thankful 
that  song  and  prayer  could  still  touch  this  heart  so  hardened 
to  all  else. 

Out  on  the  landing  again  in  the  dark  of  night  we  groped 
our  way  across  to  another  door  and  knocked.  No  response 
but  the  sound  of  loud  quarreling  within.  We  knocked 
again,  Fumes  of  tobacco  smoke  had  found  their  way  through 


60  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

the  chinks  in  the  door  and  made  the  air  still  more  difficult  to 
breathe.  We  knocked  louder  in  desperation,  anxious  to  get 
in  out  of  the  darkness. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  and  we  asked  if  there  was  not  a 
sic-k  woman  there.  "  Yes,"  and  we  were  bidden  welcome. 

Oh,  it  seems  impossible  to  describe  this  room  !  Could 
I  paint  it  in  all  its  desolation  and  filth,  with  the  sad,  dark 
colors  it  would  need,  my  picture  would  be  styled  exaggerated. 
But  without  any  hesitation  I  can  say  that  there  was  no  room 
for  exaggeration,  for  imagination  could  depict  nothing  worse. 

POVERTY  BEYOND  DESCRIPTION. 

The  room  was  chilly  and  damp,  and  one  shuddered  as  if 
entering  a  vault.  The  uneven  and  rotten  boards  of  the  floor 
were  black  with  layers  of  dirt,  and  the  roof,  which  was  com- 
posed only  of  rafters,  was  ceUed  with  deposits  of  dirt, 
cobweb  and  soot.  Especially  over  the  corner  where  the 
stove  had  been  the  soot  was  so  thick  that  it  hung  in  black 
layers  and  flakes.  The  window  was  broken,  and  to  replace 
the  many  missing  panes  rags  had  been  hung  over  it  and 
propped  up  with  a  piece  of  kindling  wood.  The  room  was 
utterly  devoid  of  furniture.  There  was  but  one  chair,  but 
that  stood  away  in  a  corner,  with  the  back  long  since 
broken  off  and  the  bottom  gone.  It  consisted  simply  of  legs! 

There  was  a  shaky  wooden  bench,  and  to  this,  with  an 
apology  for  its  poor  accommodation,  we  were  invited  with  a 
touch  of  gallantry  by  a  poor,  tottering,  drunken  man,  who 
knew  the  slum  saviours  well  enough  to  show  them  respect. 

The  bedstead  was  an  iron  one,  but  through  age  it  had 
given  way  in  the  middle.  A  few  rags  were  all  the  bed  cover- 
ing of  which  it  could  boast,  and  in  the  midst  of  them, 
emaciated  by  sickness  and  pinched  by  hunger,  with  her  hair 
already  whitenedjay  age,£ancl  limbs  shivering  in  the  bitt^ep 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


G 


cold,  sat  a  sick  woman.     Her  only  garment  was  a  torn  waist, 
which  she  tried  to  hold  around  her  with  thin,  bony  hands. 

"Yes,  she  has  been  feeling  very  sick.     She  is  sick  all  the 
time  now."    But  she  asked  eagerly  how  the  two  sick  slum 


-3>    dimiim 

"COME  ALONG,   SIS." 

officers  were,  and  said  that  she  had  been  thinking  of  them. 

Her  husband  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  tried  to  talk 
to  us,  but  he  was  incoherent  and  rambling,  excited  one 
minute,  despairing  the  next.  A  little  of  his  story  I  have 
learned,  and  it  is  but  the  story  of  hundreds  more. 


62  NEW  YORK'S  INFEENO. 

A    TYPICAL    STORY. 

No  work,  weary  tramps  and  endless  searching,  and  yet 
still  no  work  ;  companions  who  would  offer  him  drink  and  he 
(starving  and  despairing)  takes  it,  and  there  is  nothing  else ; 
returning  at  night,  tired  and  footsore,  he  has  to  sit  up  by  a 
groaning  wife  in  a  cheerless,  cold  room  with  nothing  to  give 
her  to  eat,  and  to  fall  asleep  knowing  that  there  is  no  better 
hope  on  the  waking  to-morrow. 

He  had  been  several  times  to  the  slum  quarters — not  to 
beg  nor  to  borrow — only  to  say  how  sick  he  was  of  his  own 
wretched  efforts  to  do  better,  and  to  be  prayed  with.  A  very 
independent  nature,  so  they  told  me,  with  some  fine  touches 
and  traits  in  his  character,  which  make  it  impossible  for  him 
to  be  a  beggar,  though  hunger  and  misery  are  his  daily 
companions. 

But  to  return  to  the  room.  One  thing  I  have  left  un- 
mentioned.  It  is  a  broken  stove  filled  with  gray  ashes,  but 
no  sign  of  fire.  A  crust  lay  on  the  table  and  a  little  salt  was 
in  a  plate  ;  but  they  had  had  nothing  to  eat  that  day,  and 
there  was  no  hope  of  anything  to  eat  on  the  next. 

"  But  on  Monday,"  he  said,  "the  old  woman  shall  have  all 
she  wants,  for  I  am  going  to  work  "—hope  was  not  yet  gone! 
A  little  inner  room  or  cupboard  I  noticed  at  the  end  of  this 
room.  It  was  another  apartment  let  separately  to  another 
lodger,  with  room  only  for  a  bed,  and  I  could  hear 
sounds  which  came  from  the  drunken  woman  who  occupied 
this  garret  corner.  The  whole  scene  was  depressing,  and 
the  icy  coldness  of  the  room  made  the  filth  and  stench  all 
the  more  horrible 

SICKNESS    BEYOND    HOPE. 

The  sick  wQman  had  a  wound  several  inches  deep  upon. 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


her  leg,  inflicted,  I  afterwards  learned,  by  a  quarrelsome 
neighbor.  But  that  which  caused  her  suffering  and  weari- 
ness and  loss  of  sleep  and  the  groans  which  broke  from  her 
as  she  moved,  was  a  dread  disease  whose  grip  she  will  never 
more  shake  off. 

Great  knotted  lumps  were  upon  her  breast,  and  as  ske  told 
us  the  doctor  said  this  would  all  have  to  be  cut  out,  the  word 
"  cancer  "  flashed  through  our  minds.  That  is  why  she 
would  not  go  to  a  hospital,  because  she  feared  to  face  this 
operation.  She  was  sure  she  would  never  live  through 
it.  But  as  we  looked  around  at  the  misery,  and  thought  of 
the  starvation  and  cold  and  loneliness,  we  felt  that  the  living 
death  was  worse  than  dying — were  it  not  for  the  hereafter. 

All  this  time  my  companion  had  been  talking  faithfully  to 
the  drunken  man,  and  I  heard  him  cursing  the  drink  and 
telling  her  how  he  hated  it — telling  her  that  could  the  dead 
mother  of  the  beautiful  French  home  of  years  ago  see  him 
now  she  would  never  know  him — never  !  never  !  She  would 
not  believe  her  son  could  fall  so  low  or  reach  that  wretched 
garret. 

Then  we  knelt  down  beside  the  bed  and  prayed  to  the  One 
whose  eyes  can  see  through  the  darkness  and  wretchedness 
into  those  desolate  hearts.  And  as  we  prayed  the  woman 
rocked  to  and  fro  sobbing,  and  the  man  responded,  "  Yes, 
yes  ;  that's  true !  My  God,  help  me  ! "  while  the  tears 
washed  his  unwashed  face  and  he  pushed  his  fingers  threugh 
his  matted  hair. 

Then  we  took  leave,  promising  to  send  some  toast  and  a 
cup  of  tea  to  the  sick  one. 

The  door  was  left  open  so  that  we  could  grope  our  way 
across  the  passage,  and  we  began  to  descend  into  the  darkness 
of  the  narrow  stairway.  My  companion  went  first,  and  as  I 


64 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


followed  her  into  the  shadows  I  looked  back  across  the  land- 
ing and  I  shall  not  forget  that  last  look.  I  could  no  longer 
see  the  occupants  of  the  room — merely  the  end  of  the  old 
bedstead — but  their  shadows  were  cast  upon  the  wall  1  The 
woman  was  still  sitting  up  in  bed,  with  her  long,  bony 
fingers  beckoning  to  her  husband,  as  she  tried  to  rouse  him 
from  his  drunken  stupor  and  shouted  : — 

" Can't  you  light  the  ladies  down?  Can't  you  hold  a  lamp 
for  'em?"  The  back  shadows  were  standing  out  on  the  wall 
in  bold  relief,  and  the  weak  voice,  querulous  and  shrill,  gave 
the  scene  a  weird  aspect. 


'•SAY,   SING   FOR    US." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


FROM  SHADOW  TO  BLACKNESS. 

JT7HEN  we  entered  into  the  blackness  again,  and  found  our- 

J_      selves  presently  upon  the  landing  below.    Turninganto 

another  room  for  a  short  call,  we  were  welcomed  and 

told  of  the  family's  welfare — or  ill-fare  it  would  he  probably 

better  to  say — and  where  we  listened  to  the  violent  rating 

at  the  husband  from  his  wife  because  he  had  neglected  to 

offer  us  a  seat. 

"  Oh  !  it's  a  poor  welcome  you  give  the  ladies,  Mike,  if  yer 
can't  have  the  common  dacency  to  show  'em  to  a  seat  I " 

But  Mike  was  not  concerned,  and  just  then  was  engrossed 
in  talking  out  his  troubles  to  my  companion,  who  sym- 
pathized with  him  over  a  pair  of  spectacles  which  he  had  re- 
cently purchased,  but  which  did  not  assist  his  failing  sight. 

Then  down  the  stairs  again  we  went  and  entered  a  room  in 
which  we  found  six  double  beds.  No  partitions,  no  screens  ; 
families  living  here,  too,  huddled  together  in  one  common 
room.  Here  the  cooking,  washing,  sleeping  was  all  done. 
Fighting,  living  and  dying  went  on— sometimes  all  at  the 
same  time.  Its  windows  only  let  in  the  light  and  air  when 
broken,  and  the  air  was  so  thick  with  tobacco  smoke  that  we 
could  hardly  breathe.  Men,  women  and  children  drag  out  a 
miserable  existence  in  this  place.  The  bed  nearest  the  door 
had  a  string  across  the  top  of  it  and  some  filthy  rags  hung 
over  it. 

BABY'S  LONG  WAIT  FOR  MAMMA. 

It  was  the  first  thing  that  attracted  my  attention,  for  over 
6s 


66  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

the  rags  peered  a  golden  head  of  a  perfect  little  angel.  True, 
the  tiny  face  was  dirty,  and  the  mass  of  golden  curls  was 
tangled,  but  it  was  a  strikingly  beautiful  child,  and  such  a 
contrast  to  the  rags  around  the  bed  on  which  it  crouched. 
The  little  dress  it  wore  was  insufficient  to  cover  it  and  had 
slipped  down  over  the  baby  shoulders,  and  I  saw  the  skin 
was  fair  and  white.  There  was  a  beautiful  pose  about  the 
neck  and  head  which  would  have  enraptured  an  artist. 

As  we  peeped  over  the  rags  at  the  head,  and  then  stepped 
round  to  the  side  to  speak  to  it,  the  little  one's  face  beamed 
forth  with  such  a  smile  that  it  made  us  feel  the  tiny  heart 
was  but  waiting  for  love  as  the  flower  buds  wait  for  the  sun 
— ready  to  burst  forth  at  the  first  ray.  The  mother  was  at 
work,  and  the  little  one  had  to  sit  there  [on  the  bed  during 
her  absence.  Ah  !  many  a  long,  dreary  hour  in  the  darkness 
and  squalor  had  this  little  one  to  wait. 

No  sheets  or  blankets  were  upon  the  bed,  only  a  common 
ticking  covering  and  a  few  dirty  rags  for  clothing.  Some 
clothes  hung  drying  on  a  line  extended  from  two  of  the  bed- 
posts, but  the  washing  they  had  received  seemed  to  have 
done  very  little  to  improve  them.  There  were  five  more  beds 
of  the  same  description,  with  the  ragged  garments  of  the 
divers  families  ornamenting  the  strings  and  posts  around 
them. 

There  was  some  water  boiling  on  the  stove,  and  there  was 
a  bench  for  us  to  sit  upon  as  we  talked  to  the  occupants  of 
the  room.  They  knew  the  "  Salvation  Sisters,"  and  were  full 
of  inquiries  as  to  those  who  had  been  to  visit  them.  Simply 
and  earnestly,  with  first  one  and  then  another  and  then  alto- 
gether, my  companion  pleaded.  One  face  especially  struck- 
us  as  an  intelligent,  fine  face.  It  was  that  of  a  man  who  had 
certainly  seen  far,  far  better  days,  but  who,  through  the 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


67 


strong  chains  of  drink,  had  been  dragged  down  until  this 
miserable,  homeless  place  had  become  his  only  shelter.  He 
told  us  how  he  had  recently  attended  our  meetings  on  Four- 
teenth Street,  and  he  heard  with  interest  of  the  opening  of  a 
hall  close  by  to  which  he  said  he  would  most  certainly  come 
on  Sunday.  As  we  sang  again  we  heard  his  voice  chiming 
in.  When  I  prayed,  the  occupants  of  the  room  knelt  down, 

I 


AFRAID   OF  ITS  MOTHER. 

and  I  could  hear  this  man  sobbing  bitterly  from  the  shadowy 
corner  where  he  knelt. 

Heartsick,  we  turned  into  the  landing,  followed  fey  the 
"  God  bless  you'sl  "  of  those  who  had  just  composed  our  little 
audience. 

Here  a  young  woman  came  to  open  her  sad  heart  to  us,  and 
she  told  us,  how  she  would  have  to  go  to  work  for  herself 


68  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


directly  she  was  well  enough,  for  her  husband  was  getting 
worse  and  worse,  and  was  drunk  now  all  the  time. 

PRAYER-MEETING  UNDER  DIFFICULTIES. 

Then  down  we  passed  another  flight,  and  knocked  at  the 
door  of  the  lodging-room  on  the  ground  floor.  On  entering,  we 
found  ourselves  surrounded  by  strangers,  for  there  had  been 
moving  of  families  since  my  companion  last  visited  there. 
One  man,  however,  remembered  her,  and  welcomed  us. 
There  were  six  double  beds  in  this  room  also.  It  was  very 
much  like  the  room  above,  only  more  wretched  if  anything. 
The  floor  was  as  dirty,  the  windows  as  dark  and  the  beds  as 
filthy  with  their  trimmings  of  old  rags.  Ragged  coats,  some- 
times crowned  by  battered-in,  mould-covered  hats,  hung 
upon  the  bedposts. 

Here  we  had  another  prayer-meeting,  and  talked  and  sang 
with  the  people,  but  were  interrupted  by  a  man  who  lay  on  a 
bed,  with  his  wife  sitting  at  the  foot  drinking.  Both  of  them 
were  drunk  and  resented  our  presence,  while  his  wife  began 
working  herself  up  into  a  very  violent  rage.  However,  we 
were surprised^to  hear  him  chiming  in  as  we  sang,though  they, 
both  of  them,  bounced  out  of  the  room  when  we  prayed. 
They  returned  afterward  as  we  were  saying  good-bye,  and  we 
took  the  opportunity  to  speak  to  them  about  their  souls. 

The  man  became  interested,  but  his  wife'?  rage  knew  no 
bounds,  and  she  informed  us  in  very  strong  terms  that  he 
was  quite  as  good  as  we  were,  while  in  the  next  breath  she 
declared  that  priests,  doctors,  missionaries  and  ministers  had 
tried  their  level  best  to  make  him  better  and  could  not  suc- 
ceed— and  it  was  pretty  sure  we  should  fail  if  they  did.  This 
called  forth  answering  abuse  from  him,  and  he  demanded,  in 
very  authoritative  language,  that  she  should  immediately 


NEW   YORK'S  INFERNO.  69 

"  shut  up  and  don't  insult  the  ladies  with  your  saucy  tongue." 
He,  moreover,  told  her  that  she  needed  converting,  and  that 
if  she  did  not  stop  he  would  "  throw  her  out  of  the  window." 
Then  she  dared  him  to  do  it,  and  so  the  quarrel  went  on. 

We  took  our  leave,  followed  by  an  assurance  from  the 
woman  that  she  wished  us  no  harm,  had  never  done  anybody 
any  harm,  and  that  she  and  her  husband  were  a  great  deal 
better  than  we  were,  which  declaration  seemed  very  much  to 
soothe  her  wounded  feelings. 

Then  we  passed  out  of  the  smoke,  out  of  the  foul,  impure 
air,  into  the  chill  and  darkness  of  the  night.  Oh  !  how  fresh 
and  fragrant  seemed  the  breeze  to  us,  though  to  uptown 
dwe'lers  it  might  have  seemed  fetid  and  fraught  with  every 
imaginable  bad  odor.  Very  bright  and  clean  looked  our  little 
slum  home  as  we  entered.  How  dazingly  white  the  fresh 
scrubbed  boards  appeared  after  the  dirty  vermin-ridden 
houses  from  which  we  had  just  come,  and  the  eight  white 
plates  round  the  table  shone  brilliantly. 

Glad,  indeed,  were  the  little  band  of  Slum  workers  for  the 
hot  coffee  and  bread  and  butter,  and  as  I  looked  round  at  the 
faces  of  these  girls— who  so  gladly  and  willingly  give  up  the 
comfort  of  ordinary  life  and  live  down  in  this  darkness, 
dressed  in  poor  clothes,  toiling  and  working,  without  money, 
without  praise  and  without  thanks — I  did  not  wonder  that 
they  shed  light  into  many  a  dark  home,  and  brought  comfort 
into  many  a  breaking  heart. 

Their  faces  were  so  bright  and  their  voices  so  cheery  that 
you  would  have  thought  sunbeams  instead  of  lamplight  were 
playing  on  their  features.  Truly  they  lived  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  smile  of  Him  whom  they  love  and  serve,  and  it  is  this 
brightness  which  they  carry  with  them  into  the  sin-stricken, 
wretched,  homes  which  they  visit, 


70  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

JENNIE'S  STORY. 

As  we  knelt  and  prayed  together,  our  hearts  were  stronger 
for  what  the  night  would  bring.  A  few  minutes  we  spent 
there,  and  then,  allotting  the  different  portions  of  the  neigh- 
borhood to  the  girls,  we  prepared  to  go  out  again.  But  we 
paused  for  a  moment  as  one  of  the  girls  came  down  from  the 
nursery. 

The  last  baby  had  just  been  taken  away  by  its  young 
eighteen-year-old  mother.  It  was  "  Jennie's  baby"  that  I  had 
seen  snugly  wrapped  up  in  the  hammock  ;  and  now  she  had 
come,  after  a  hard  day's  work,  to  fetch  him  away. 

All  her  week's  earnings  were  contained  in  an  envelope  she 
held  in  her  hand.  Since  Monday  morning  she  had  worked 
hard,  and  for  all  this  toil  had  received  $2  honestly  hers.  As 
she  asked  for  change  and  opened  the  envelope  that  she  might 
pay  the  daily  five  cents  for  her  baby's  keep  to  her  horror 
she  found  that  the  $2  was  missing.  She  had  dropped  it  in 
the  street,  and  she  hastened  away  to  retrace  her  steps 
through  the  darkness,  while  we  all  waited  distressed  and 
anxious.  Gladly  would  we  have  given  her  the  money,  but 
we  cannot  give  money,  for  instead  of  teaching  self-help  it 
would  pauperize ;  and  when  once  given  more  is  always  ex- 
pected. To  our  joy,  however,  she  came  back  a  few  minutes 
later  to  say  that  she  had  picked  it  up  upon  the  steps  of  a 
store  but  half  a  block  away.  Then,  cheery  and  happy,  she 
wrapped  her  baby  round,  and  together  they  went  out  into  the 
frost  and  darkness. 

A  sad  story  is  hers  !  Twelve  months  ago  she  visited  the 
Slum  quarters  for  the  first  time,  despairing  and  sick  at  heart. 
She  was  only  seventeen  then,  and  she  had  a  five-month-old 
baby  in  her  arms — no  home,  no  friends  ;  no  one  with  whom 
to  leave  the  Uttje  one,  and  hejice  go  chance  of  getting  work, 


NEW  YORK^S  INFERNO. 


It  meant  to  her  either  shame  or  starvation.  For  weeks 
past  she  had  slept  with  her  babe  in  entryways  and  washed 
him  daily  under  the  hydrants.  How  thankful  she  was  when 
he  was  taken  into  the  nursery  and  she  could  gain  an  honest 
living1  !  But  the  baby  was  always  ailing  and  died  at  last,  and 
the  little  one  which  now  takes  its  place  has  better  fare,  for  he 
is  a  daily  occupant  of  the  nursery,  and  his  mother  is  support- 
ing them  both  by  honest  work. 

VISITING  THE  DIVES. 

Out  into  the  night  again  went  the  little  band,  two  and 
two,  scattered  for  night  work  with  the  teeming  crowds  that 
turned  midnight  to  noonday.  Saloon  and  dive  visiting  was 
the  order  of  the  night,  and  though  it  was  not  yet  very  late 
we  found  all  the  men  and  women  drunk  in  the  first  saloon 
we  entered.  Hardly  able  to  stand,  they  were  leaning  about 
on  tables  and  against  the  wall,  quarreling  and  drinking,  and 
inhaling  the  fumes  of  the  worst  tobacco  I  have  ever  smelled. 

One  man  became  angry,  saying  that  he  did  not  need  us, 
and  that  he  was  a  Catholic.  But  then  some  native  honesty 
lurking  in  his  befogged  brain  made  him  add,  "  I  know  I  ought 
to  be  a  good  Catholic,  and  am  a  bad  one,  more's  the  pity." 
Before  we  parted  he  was  the  most  respectful  and  most  inter- 
ested member  of  our  little  audience.  We  were  asked  in 
rather  a  definite  manner  to  "quit,"  and  so  we  passed  out  of 
the  glare  and  smoke  into  the  night. 

At  the  next  door  we  heard  the  sound  of  music.  A  violin, 
piano  and  flute  were  rattling  off,  loudly  and  shrilly,  the 
quickest  of  dance  music.  We  pushed  open  the  screen  doors 
and  found  ourselves  in  a  large  room  where  there  were  six  or 
seven  young  girls  in  brilliant  short  dresses  drinking,  dancing 
and  laughing  with  a  low,  dissolute  crowd  of  men.  Oh,  how 
difficult  it  is  to  deal  with  those  whose  hearts  are  aching,  but 


72 


NEW  YORK^S  INPERN6. 


NEW"  YORK'S  INFERNO.  78 

who  toss  their  heads  and  laugh,  and  walk  away  to  dance  the 
dance  of  death,  or  to  toss  off  spirits  as  if  they  were  drinking 
water  1  We  talked  with  each  one  of  them,  and  then  passed 
out  again  to  another. 

Both  sides  of  the  street — to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  in 
front  of  us  and  behind — are  crowded,  and  we  hear  the  sounds 
of  music  and  laughter  and  the  shrill  wrangling  of  those 
already  drunk.  I  could  go  on  describing  at  length  the  work 
which  every  week  is  done  patiently  and  carefully  in  these 
haunts  of  vice  and  sin,  but  I  must  pass  on. 

BY  THE  WAYSIDE. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  work  of  that  evening  was 
the  quiet  talks  we  had  with  the  men  lounging  on  the  side- 
walks. Every  now  and  then  we  would  be  interrupted  by  the 
drunken  companion  of  one  to  whom  we  were  speaking,  or  a 
woman  (without  womanhood)  would  appear  on  the  threshold 
of  one  of  those  places  and  try  to  persuade  or  taunt  our  list- 
ener into  leaving  us  and  joining  the  crowd  within. 

We  talked  to  a  pale-faced  boy  dressed  in  threadbare  cloth' 
ing,  whose  face  was  so  pallid  and  ghastly  that  it  looked  as  if 
disease  was  already  the  forerunner  of  near  approaching  death. 
He  was  only  fourteen !  He  lived  in  a  saloon,  and  in  his 
young  life  had  already  seen  more  of  vice  and  sin  than  a 
volume  could  unfold. 

"  Never  mind,  if  smoking  and  drinking  may  seem  to  you 
to  make  you  more  manly,  you  know  it  really  makes — "  But 
before  she  could  finish  the  sentence  he  chimed  in  with — 

"  I  know  it  makes  fools  of  men.  It  would  make  a  fool  of 
me." 

And  the  bitterness  in  his  voice  showed  us  plainly  that  he 
realized  the  end  of  the  broad  path  down  which  those  many 
dancing  feet  were  so  swiftly  treading, 


74  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

My  companion  was  speaking  to  a  man  a  few  steps  away, 
when  I  began  a  conversation  with  a  bright-eyed,  good- 
natured  sailor  lad,  and  found  that  he  was  a  backslider.  Fully 
realizing  the  wretchedness  and  misery  that  those  haunts 
harbored  behind  their  light  and  music,  he  still  said  that  after 
weeks  of  weary  work  at  sea  they  were  a  sailor's  only  welcome 
to  shore  again. 

I  could  see,  as  he  tried  to  laugh  off  what  I  was  saying  to 
him,  that  he  felt  more  than  he  cared  to  say.  "  It's  all  right 
— it's  all  right !  But  it's  no  good  talking  to  me,"  he  said  ; 
and  then  I  asked  him — looking  into  eyes  that  were  frank  and 
honest  despite  the  apparent  indifference  : — "  Do  you  not  be" 
lieve  that  this  religion  we  talk  about  is  real?  Do  you  think 
we  are  in  earnest  or  not  ?''  "  In  earnest !  Of  course  you  are  ! 
We  all  know  that.  Why  you  go  into  dens  and  places  where 
others  cannot  and  dare  not  enter,  for  it  would  be  as  much 
as  their  lives  are  worth.  But  we  know  you."  I  inwardly  said, 
"  Thank  God  !"  as  these  words  showed  me  that  The  Salvation 
Army  is  gaining  the  confidence  of  the  class  for  whom  they 
mostly  work.  With  a  warm  nand-grip  we  parted,  and  I 
saw  him  wistfully  looking  after  us  as  we  walked  on. 

Many  others  were  talked  to — hopeless  ones,  starving  ones, 
staggering  drunkards — and  then  back  again  we  went  to  hear 
from  the  other  Slum  saviours  of  their  visits  in  fifteen  saloons. 


CHAPTER    IX. 


PATROLLING    THE    STREETS. 

FEW  more  minutes  together  and  we  turn  out  again  to 
pass  the  midnight  hours  on  the  streets. 
It  is  very  dark  and  cold  now.  Cats  prowl  about,  growl- 
ing in  the  ash  barrels,  running  out  from  unsuspected  nooks 
and  corners,  fighting  under  the  empty  wagons  that  line  the 
streets,  stealing  down  cellar  stairs  and  darting  about  here, 
there  and  everywhere.  These  vagrant  cats  seem  to  be  the 
only  well-fed  inhabitants  of  the  slums,  and  it  is  a  good  thing 
perhaps  that  they  are  there  to  help  to  clear  the  refuse  from 
the  streets. 

On,  down  street  after  street,  until  we  walked  into  the 
glare  of  the  Bowery.  Men  and  women  pass  us  in  scores,  and 
hundreds  throng  the  streets  as  midnight  approaches.  Young 
girls,  laughing  loud  and  long,  old  men  tottering  along  with 
the  tide  of  passers-by,  or  leaning  against  some  post  or  pillar  ; 
young  men,  some  in  tatters,  with  pinched  and  hungry 
features,  some  with  flashy  dress  and  with  the  stamp  of  vice 
upon  their  faces. 

We  were  crossing  the  street  when  I  became  aware  of  a 
band  of  drunken  men  just  behind  us.  I  could  hear  their  talk, 
and  when  we  gained  the  other  side  and  hurried  on  I  thought 
they  were  still  following. 

Suddenly  my  arm  was  tightly  gripped !  I  drew  it  away 
and  turned  to  confront  the  man  who  had  taken  it,  when  I 
heard  the  words  : — 

75 


76  NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 

"Don't  you  know  me?'  and  a  tall  figure  leaned  over  me. 
The  face  was  smeared  with  dirt,  the  clothes  were  ragged,  the 
hat  was  battered,  but  in  spite  of  that  I  knew  him — it  was  my 
husband ! 

I  had  to  struggle  hard  to  keep  an  exclamation  of  joy  and 
a  smile  of  glad  recognition  from  lighting  my  face,  but  we 
were  the  observed  of  all  observers,  with  the  light  shining 
brightly  on  my  Army  badge,  and  I  knew  only  too  well  that 
any  affectionate  look  of  recognition  bestowed  upon  this  (sup- 
posed) street  tough  would  be  misunderstood.  So,  with  a 
short,  earnest  word  or  two  and  with  a  parting  "God  bless 
you  !  "  I  handed  him  a  tract  and  we  plunged  again  into  the 
throng. 

It  was  Sunday  morning  now.  Some  saloons  were  still 
open  and  crowded  ;  the  front  doors  of  others  had  been  closed, 
but  through  the  cracks  of  the  blinds  and  shutters  we  could 
still  see  crowds  within,  and  the  side  doors,  we  found,  had 
been  opened. 

SUNDAY    MORNING    SIDE    DOORS. 

The  side  entrances  to  the  saloonsseemed  every  whit  as  bad 
as  the  front,  and  quite  as  many  people  seemed  to  go  into 
them.  Pool  rooms  were  thronged,  and  billiard  rooms  also, 
while  up  and  down  the  streets  the  stream  of  passers  still  flowed 
on,  and  every  hour  appeared  more  ghastly  by  the  glare  of  the 
electric  light. 

The  walk  of  many  was  growing  more  and  more  unsteady, 
and  some  of  the  homeless,  shivering  unemployed  who  could 
not  pay  for  a  night's  lodging,  had  slunk  back  into  the  door- 
ways and  were  bracing  themselves  up  against  the  sides.  The 
degradation  and  villainy  written  plainly  upon  some  faces  we 
met  was  enough  to  make  any  heart  shudder ;  and  it  was 
brought  into  greater  prominence  by  the  refined,  and,  in  some 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


instances,  beautiful  faces  of  the  hapless  girls  who  were  their 
companions. 

Then  in  the  early  morning  hours,  as  we  retraced  our  steps 
again  into  the  back  streets,  staggering  figures  were  seen  on 
all  sides.  Here  was  a  policeman  rousing  and  waking  a 
drunken  man,  who  lay  stupefied  and  sleeping  in  an  entry,  but 
who  had  to  get  up  and  stagger  away  into  the  darkness,  only 
to  fall  a  little  further  on  and  be  roused  and  driven  forward  by 
another  policeman,and  further  on  by  yet  another  and  another. 

DEFERENCE  TO  SALVATION  GIRLS. 

But  even  these  staggering  drunkards  tried  to  step  out  of 
our  way  and  let  us  pass  when  they  saw  The  Army  badge  and 
recognized  us  as  Salvationists.  A  little  ragged,  tattered  boy 
was  running  swiftly  past  us,  and  when  he  saw  who  we  were 
raised  his  tattered  little  cap  with  a  wave  of  recognition  and 
a  smile.  And  I  thanked  God  from  the  depth  of  my  heart  that 
the  patient  toil  of  these  last  months  had  done  its  work,  and 
had  found  a  place  for  these  brave  girls  in  the  hearts  of  those 
for  whom  they  live  and  work  and  sacrifice. 

Away  above  us  we  could  see  glimmering  like  stars  in  the 
darkness  the  brilliant  lights  of  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  ;  cold  and 
clear  and  mocking  they  looked  as  they  shone  out  of  the  dark- 
ness, and  their  glimmer  was  reflected  in  the  muddy  pools  at 
our  feet.  Over  that  bridge  passed  daily  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands from  home  to  office  and  office  to  home,  knowing 
nothing  of  the  dying,  starving,  sin-blighted  multitudes  in  the 
hot-bed  of  wretchedness  beneath.  Mocking  lights  of  Brook- 
lyn Bridge  !  You  cannot  lighten  this  darkness  !  But  above, 
looking  down  with  pitying  love  and  mercy,  we  felt  there  was 
One  whose  eyes  can  pierce  not  only  the  darkness  of  the 
gathering  clouds  but  also  the  darkness  of  vice  and  sin — One 
who  can  help  us  seek  and  save  these  wandering  lost  ones. 


YOBBOS  INP£BiJO> 


Still  the  strains  of  music  came  from  behind  the  closed 
doors  of  the  saloons,  though  the  streets  were  desolate,  save 
for  some  forlorn  figures,  reeling  now  against  a  lamp-post, 
now  against  the  shutters  of  some  store,  and  the  upright 
form  of  the  police  officer  hovering  in  their  wake  and  watch- 
ing every  suspicious  figure  that  glided  in  and  out  and  round 
about  the  dark  shadows. 

A  sheltering  oasis,  our  tiny  room  in  the  .back  tenement 
house,  seemed  to  us  that  night,  and,  weary  and  footsore  as 
we  were,  the  little  trundle  bed  was  wonderfully  welcome. 
And  it  seemed  soft  to  us  when  we  thought  of  the  many  who 
were  sleeping  in  those  empty  carts  or  tramping  the  streets 
all  night,  or  lying  upon  filthy  rags  in  the  fetid  air  of  the 
lodging-house  we  had  visited. 

I  cannot  tell  how  it  was  that  I  managed  to  fall  asleep  at 
all,  for  I  felt  as  though  sleep  was  the  last  thing  possible.  But 
somehow  or  other  my  eyes  closed,  and  then  I  found  myself 
in  a  thrilling  and  exciting  situation,  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd 
of  men  in  a  pool-room  or  a  cellar,  and  I  was  trying  to  drive 
out  some  boys  who  were  there,  and  talking  to  the  drunken 
wretch  who,  I  felt,  had  entrapped  them  to  the  ruin  of  their 
souls. 

From  these  scenes  I  was  aroused.  The  room  was  light, 
and  dreams  and  shadows  fled  away  as  I  heard  a  clear,  happy 
voice  singing  down  below,  "  Hallelujah  !  Hallelujah  !  I  love 
Thee,  my  Saviour,  I  trust,  Lord,  in  Thee."  And  then,  looking 
up,  I  could  see  from  my  window  some  smoky  chimneys  and 
the  tower  of  Brooklyn  Bridge,  and  I  realized  that  the  night 
with  its  horrors  was  over. 

WRECKAGE  OF  THE  NIGHT  TIDE. 

But  daylight  only  ushered  in  a  day  with  more  heart-break- 
ing scenes,  more  weariness  and  sadness,  as  we  saw  the 


NEW    YORK'S  INFERNO.  79 

wreckage  cast  up  by  the  stream  of  dissipation  of  the  night 
before.  A  very  lively  fight  was  going  on  in  the  yard  below 
between  four  wretched-looking  cats,  and  shortly  afterward  a 
sound  of  quarreling  (this  time  in  the  human  family)  reminded 
us  that  the  "still  calm  of  Sabbath"  is  a  thing  unknown  in 
slumdom. 

I  thought  as  we  all  knelt  together  in  prayer  around  the 
breakfast  table  and  I  listened  to  the  clear  ringing  voices  and 
comforting  words  sung,  how  many  of  the  despairing  neigh- 
bors must  listen  and  be  cheered  by  sounds  so  different  to 
those  that  clashed  upon  our  ears,  making  the  day  miserable 
and  the  stillness  of  night  bristle  with  horror.  Cries  of  mur- 
der, the  thud  of  falling  blows,  and  the  shrieks  of  women  are 
familiar  sounds !  Their  ears  are  accustomed  to  ribald,  ob- 
scene songs  and  peals  of  laughter,  both  hollow  and  false, 
showing  bitterness  and  woe  unspoken.  Like  a  fresh  breeze  to 
becalmed  sailors  or  the  scent  of  violets  to  the  fever-stricken 
patient  must  seem  the  happy,  cheery  voices  and  the  pure, 
hope-breathing  words  wafted  from  the  little  Slum  home  in 
the  tenement  house. 

Oh  for  trust  that  brings  the  triumph, 
When  defeat  seems  strangely  near  ! 

Oh  for  faith  that  changes  fighting 
Into  victory's  ringing  cheer  ! 
Faith  triumphant  ! 

Knowing  not  defeat  or  fear. 

We  sang  over  and  over  again,  and  it  was  not  mere  empty 
sentiment. 

The  light  of  true  faith  shone  on  each  face,  and  the  deter- 
mination to  fight  and  suffer  until  each  effort  was  crowned 
with  victory  rang  in  the  earnest  voices.  Ah  !  no  one  but  God 
knows  how  much  faith  and  trust  and  courage  is  needed  by 
these  Slum  officers,  who  become  one  with  the  outcast  poor  in 


80 


rNEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


home  and  dress  and  work,  that  they  may  tread  in  the  steps 
of  Christ  and  for  His  dear  sake  win  back  those  lost  sheep. 


CHAPTER  X. 


BRAVERY  OF  THE  ARMY  GIRLS. 

MIDDEN  haunts  of  darkest  vice,  saloons,  dives,  lodging 
houses  and  dens  of  ill  repute  are  alike  visited.      They 
fearlessly  enter  everywhere  into  the  shadows,  with  no 
man  or  detective  or  escort  to  protect  them,  knowing  that 
around  them  are  thrown  the  everlasting  arms  of  Him  who 
can  best  gviard  them. 

Patiently,  lovingly  and  bravely  they  are  working  on,  day 
and  night !  Unknown  are  they  by  the  outer  world,  without 
honor,  without  recognition  and  often  without  the  thanks  of 
those  whom  they  strive  to  help.  But  God  sees,  and  each  act 
done  unto  Him  is  chronicled. 

Again  we  wrapped  our  shawls  about  us  and  paired  off  for 
the  day's  visiting.  But  just  before  leaving  the  house  we 
were  startled  by  the  sound  of  high  words  and  angry  voices. 
One  of  the  girls  went  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and 
found  that  it  was  "  another  row  "  between  some  neighbors, 
of  whom  the  girl  spoke  by  name  ;  and  just  then  the  man  was 
heard  threatening  loudly  to  throw  his  wife  over  the  stairs. 

The  great  feature  of  Sunday  visiting  is  invariably  the 
large  number  of  people  found  drunk  in  their  own  homes. 
The  revels  of  the  previous  night  seem  to  tell  all  round  on  men 
and  women  alike. 

Our  first  visit  was  in  a  cellar.  Down  the  dirty  sawdust- 
strewn  steps  we  stumbled  into  a  low,  damp  place  where 
kindling  wood  lay  about  in  piles,  and  stacks^of  lumber  still 


82 


NEW  YORK'S  INFEENO. 


waiting  to  be  chopped  forced  us  to  carefully  pick  our  way. 
A  lamp  was  nailed  upon  a  beam  and  gave  a  little  light. 

No  stranger  looking  in  would  have  supposed  that  human 
beings  lived  there  !  But  my  companion  went  straight  up  to 
the  little  partitioned  off  corner,  which  looked  like  a  small  shed 
in  which  a  goat  could  be  kept,  and  through  the  chinks  and 
holes  in  the  boards  we  could  see  a  light  from  within,  for  no 
daylight  penetrated  to  the  spot. 


MISERABLE  OLD   AGtE. 

LIVING  IN  A  CELLAR  CUPBOARD. 

A  voice  from  within  answered  the  knock,  and  we  opened 


YORK'S  INFERNO, 


the  door.  There  was  not  room  for  us  both  to  enter,  so  I  stood 
in  the  doorway  and  my  companion  went  just  inside. 

So  small  was  the  place  that  it  could  not  be  called  anything 
but  a  cupboard.  This  was  rented  as  a  "  furnished  room,"  and 
the  rent  was  $6.  The  furniture  consisted  of  a  stove,  in 
which  fortunately  there  was  a  fire,  a  table  and  two  chairs. 
My  companion  told  me  that  the  last  time  the  poor  old  couple 
were  visited  there  was  not  a  bit  of  warmth  to  counteract  the 
damp  chill  of  the  cellar. 

At  the  table  sat  an  old  man,  certainly  past  sixty,  and  his 
aged  wife.  Behind  some  old  rags  and  clothes  hanging  from 
the  side  just  behind  the  man  was  a  bed,  if  it  could  be  called 
such. 

After  some  talk  we  sang  and  prayed,  and  I  could  hardly 
find  room  to  kneel  down. 

There  was  no  ventilation,  no  daylight  and  no  comfort,  and 
as  we  picked  our  way  out  again  through  the  wood  cellar  I 
heard  how  they  had  first  been  found  by  our  girls.  One  of 
them  had  stopped  to  talk  to  the  old  woman,  who  had  been 
sitting  despondently  upon  the  steps,  and  following  her  into 
her  room  had  found  the  poor  shed  she  called  home.  Still  the 
fact  of  being  to  themselves  must  make  life  in  this  cellar  pre- 
ferable to  that  in  the  lodging  house.  As  we  climbed  the 
steps  again  I  caught  my  feet  in  my  ragged  dress,  and  picked 
nij^self  up  again  to  find  a  tear  half  a  yard  long  embellishing 
the  front  of  it. 

A  few  steps  further  and  we  dived  down  a  narrow  alley- 
way and  reached  a  rear  tenement  house.  In  this  house  some 
thirty  families  live,  crowded  into  small  rooms — men,  women 
and  children — most  of  them  squalid,  drunken  and  quarrel- 
some in  the  extreme. 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


BABY  JIM. 

It  was  in  one  of  the  topmost  rooms  that  we  had  found  a 
poor  baby  boy  (some  time  since),  whose  grandfather  assured 
us  "only  lived  out  of  spite,"  and  whose  wasted  little  body 
and  one  ragged  garment  spoke  louder  than  words  of  neglect 
and  misery. 

That  house  will  always  make  me  think  of  Baby  Jim  and 
the  long,  weary  hours  he  must  have  spent  sobbing  ;  for  his 
mother  used  to  go  out  and  lock  him  up  all  alone,  and  he' had 
lain  on  the  bare  boards  until  his  little  back  was  covered  with 
sores. 

One  day  the  slum  officers  called  and  found  the  door  locked, 
but  while  she  was  knocking  at  it  the  mother  returned  and 
opened  it.  They  entered,  and  found  the  poor  baby  sitting 
beneath  the  table,  his  face  swollen  with  tears  and  his  little 
body  filthy.  As  his  mother  stooped  to  drag  him  up,  with  a 
cry  he  shrank  from  her. 

"  Where  is  Baby  Jim  now  ?  "  I  asked. 

"His  mother  is  dead,"  answered  my  companion.  Only 
eighteen,  and  yet  she  had  led  such  a  dissolute  life  that,  like 
many  others  of  these  girls,  she  had  died  very  suddenly, 
almost  as  you  might  blow  out  the  flame  of  a  candle. 

And  Baby  Jim  has  been  taken  away  and  has  not  been 
found  again.  Let  us  hope  that  some  white-winged  angel  has 
carried  him  away  from  the  wretchedness  and  squalor  to  the 
peace  and  love  which  he  never  knew  on  earth. 

The  stairs  are  of  stone,  but  thev  are  narrow  and  dirty,  and 
the  air  is  bad.  The  smells  are  sickening. 

A  very  warm  welcome  awaited  us  in  the  first  room  we 
entered,  and  it  was  a  bright,  honest  face  that  lighted  up 
with  smiles  at  our  visit.  Clear,  blue,  Irish  eyes  and  wavy 
black  hair  had  the  mother,  while  the  girl  and  boy,  whose 


fttew  YORK'S  INFERNO.  86 

morning  toilet  was  being  performed,  were  little  copies  of  her. 
The  young  husband  sat  on  the  couch,  and  the  old  mother  at 
the  table.  Another  girl  who  was  stay  ing  with  them  made  up 
the  rest  of  the  family,  all  of  whom  lived  in  those  two  small 
rooms. 

A  change  had  crept  into  this  home.  There  was  food  to 
eat,  and  the  children  had  new  clothes,  for  the  mother  had 
stopped  drinking.  When  first  found  by  our  workers  the 
woman  was  hopelessly  enchained  by  that  soul  and  body 
blighting  enemy.  In  a  squalid,  filthy  room  of  a  house  of  bad 
repute  she  was  drinking  with  two  men,  in  shameless,  bold 
attire. 

No  food  had  been  in  the  house  that  day,  and  one  hungry 
child  gnawed  at  a  raw  onion  while  they  sat  in  a  corner 
watching  their  mother.  As  the  Slum  girls  entered  and  began 
to  talk  with  her  the  men  slunk  out ;  and  a  wave  of  bitter 
remorse  swept  over  the  poor  girl  as  she  listened  to  their 
words.  She  arose  and  paced  the  room,  tearing  her  raven 
black  tresses. 

"  Oh,  God  help  me  !  God  forgive  me  !  I  know — I  know  I 
am  lost  !  It  is  all  the  drink — the  drink  !  Seventy-five  cents 
gone  in  drink  already  this  morning,  and  not  a  bit  of  food  in 
the  house  for  my  children  !  My  darlings  !  Only  twenty-four 
— only  twenty- four — and  I'm  a  drunkard — a  drunkard  ! " 

Pausing  before  her  children,  with  voice  broken  and 
pathetic  in  the  extreme,  she  cried  : — 

"Oh,  my  children!  My  poor  children!  You  have  no 
mother  !  She  is  a  drunkard — a  drunkard  ! "  And  the  black 
hair  was  torn  again. 

Her  husband  was  in  jail  at  that  time,  still  she  could  make 
good  money  at  her  work.  But,  alas  !  it  all  went  in  drink. 


CHAPTER  XL 


GLIMPSES  OF  SUNLIGHT. 

LOVING,  patient,  pleading,  many  visits  and  faith-wrought 
prayers  won  this  heart  (really  very  honest  and  with 
many  redeeming  features),  and  a  strong  bond  of  sym- 
pathy sprang  up  hetween  her  and  her  new  friends. 

She  moved  into  more  respectable  quarters,  and  then  her 
husband  returned.  He,  too,  drank,  and  drinks  still,  but  she 
has  now  got  a  little  home,  keeps  herself  looking  clean  and 
bright,  and  her  earnings  are  rightly  spent. 

Joyfully  she  showed  the  new  dress  she  had  bought  for  her 
bright  little  girl,  and  then  told  us  how  she  had  been  getting 
on.  She  had  been  tempted  often,  and  had  sometimes  given 
way  again  to  drink. 

"  But  your  words  always,  always  come  back  to  me,"  she 
said,  turning  to  my  companion,  "and  they  have  all  come 
true  every  time  ! "  Now  she  "  had  done  with  the  drink,"  she 
said,  "  done  with  it  forever."  So  with  the  prayer  that  He 
who  alone  could  give  her  the  power  to  live  out  this  resolu- 
tion and  keep  her  from  falling  might  be  near  her,  we  turned 
away,  thankful  for  this  little  gleam  of  sunlight  in  the  sad 
visits  of  the  day. 

From  behind  each  door  as  we  climbed  the  winding  stairs 
came  sounds  of  quarreling,  drunkenness  and  sin.  In  describ- 
ing one  I  can  pretty  nearly  describe  all.  We  knocked  at  a 
door  from  behind  which  issued  loud  and  coarse  words. 

"Come  in  ! "  shrieked  a  chorus  of  women's  voices.  It  was 
a  small  and  wretched  room,  with  another  one,  cramped  and 

86 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  87 

dark  as  a  cupboard,  opening  out  of  it.  Its  occupants  were 
three  women,  two  men  and  a  babe.  One  woman  was  inclined 
to  resent  our  entrance,  but  after  a  few  sharp  words  disap- 
peared into  the  back  room  with  the  sickly  baby.  The  other 
two  were  civil,  even  pleased  to  see  us. 

The  two  men  were  in  a  besotted  state — we  might  s«y  liter- 
ally soaked  with  drink.  Of  course,  there  was  no  carpet  on 
the  floor  ;  dirt  and  disorder  reigned,  and  the  fumes  of  drink 
and  stale  tobacco  made  the  air  thick  and  poisonous. 

While  I  was  talking  to  the  girl-mother  about  her  baby 
and  its  future  and  the  effect  of  her  present  life  and  surround- 
ings upon  him,  I  could  hear  my  companion  talking  earnestly 
to  the  men,  and  their  incoherent  and  sometimes  uncivil  an- 
swers. When  these  every  now  and  then  reached  beyond  the 
limit  of  slum  etiquette,  the  two  women  shouted  in  chorus  : — 

"  Ah  !  Patsey,  now  can't  yer  hold  yer  saucy  tongue  1 
You're  beastly  drunk,  anyway  !  Shut  up,  and  let  us  hear  the 
ladies.  It's  kind  of  them  to  call  to  see  us  !  " 

And  Patsey  would  roll  back  against  the  wall  for  a  few 
moments,  pause,  and  try  to  collect  his  scattered  senses  before 
again  joining  in  the  conversation. 

TAKEN  BY  THE  NURSERY  PLAN. 

The  women  were  really  interested,  and  said  : — 

"  Please  don't  yer  take  no  notice  of  the  men.  They're  aw- 
ful rough,  and  don't  know  how  to  treat  yer.  But  yer  see  how 
it  is,  they're  full — and  more's  the  pity  ! "  This  family  were 
newcomers  to  the  house,  but  had  heard  of  us  from  neighbors. 

"And  is  it  true  yer  have  a  nursery  fur  babies? "they 
asked. 

There  was  a  lull  in  the  storm.  Patsey  rolled  about  un- 
decidedly, perhaps  wondering  which  of  us  to  accost,  and 


NEW  YORK'S.  INFEENO. 


fearing  another  wifely  reproof,  and  that  which  might  accom- 
pany and  emphasize  it. 

"  Yes,"  we  answered,  "  we  have  a  nursery,  and  sometimes 
take  as  many  as  sixteen  babies." 

"  Well,  I  never  !  And  can  one  fetch  the  baby  away  again 
at  night  after  work  hours  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"And  is  there  any  one  there  to  look  after  'em  and  see 
they're  all  right  ?  "  continued  the  young  mother,  her  face  all 
interest. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  we  answered.  "Two  girls  to  care  for 
them,  and  nice  little  beds,  and  toys,  and  swings,  and  milk  ; 
and  they  all  look  so  clean  and  happy." 


A  SEAUTY  AMONG  THE^FJLTIJ, 


NfcW  TORRES  INFERNO. 


"Well,  well,"  chimed  in  the  older  woman,  "and  how 
much  is  there  to  pay  ?  " 

"  Five  cents  a  day,"  we  answered. 

"  Five  cents  a  day — only  five  cents  !  Well,  did  you  ever  1 
Only  five  cents  !  That  is  fine."  The  women  were  tilled  with 
wonder,  and  then  confided  to  us  that  the  little  mother  was 
going  to  work  on  her  own  account,  if  only  she  had  some  one 
to  "do  right  by  the  baby "  in  her  absence,  and  the  possibility 
of  taking  him  home  at  night. 

Oh,  how  these  mothers  still  cling  to  their  babies,  and  I  do 
not  wonder  !  They  want  something  to  love,  something  that 
will  love  them  in  return,  something  to  cling  to  and  live  for, 
or — well,  life  would  be  too  hard,  too  cold  and  too  cruel  to  en- 
dure, and  the  cold,  lapping  waters  of  the  East  River  would  be 
welcome  kisses,  wooing  to  the  oft-thought-of  deliverance — 
death  ! 

But  to  return  to  my  story.  Our  conversation  was  brought 
to  an  end  by  the  men  who  appeared  deaf  to  the  entreaties  to 
"  shut  up"  and  be  "  ashamed  of  yerselves,"  etc.  So  we  took 
leave,  and  the  women  whispered  : — 

"Thank  you  kindly.  Come  again  to  see  us  when  the  men 
ain't  here,  and  don't  you  mind  them — don't  be  upset  by  them, 
they  be  beastly  drunk !  " 

We  smilingly  assured  them  that  our  feelings  were  not 
hurt,  and  our  reception  should  not  make  us  hesitate  in  call- 
ing again. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


FOR  HIS  DEAR  SAKE. 

IN  the  next  room  our  welcome  was  even  warmer.  Two 
women  were  violently  drunk,  while  the  men  were  stag- 
gering and  stupid.  The  tables  were  turned  here,  how- 
ever, and  the  caustic,  abusive  language  of  one  of  the  women 
was  roundly  denounced  by  the  man,  who  asked  her  if  she 
couldn't  "  trate  the  ladies  dacent." 

What  a  hubbub— what  language — and,  oh  !  what  faces  ! 
No  woman's  face  could  be  imagined  much  more  marred, 
degraded  and  bloated.  A  regular  virago  ;  bare  arms  raised 
threateningly,  hair  a  dirty,  tangled  mop,  features  swelled, 
bloated  flesh  hanging  in  baggy  folds,  and — such  a  tongue  ! 

"  No,  I  don't  want  yer — go  away — I  have  my  praste  !  I'm 
a  good  Catholic,  and  I  know  lots  better  than  you  all  about 
religion— get  out !" 

Here  she  was  stopped  by  one  of  the  men  and  had  an  aside 
with  the  other  woman,  who  was  evidently  coaching  her  for 
the  second  attack.  Meanwhile  the  man  took  down  a  crucifix 
and  showed  it  to  us. 

•'  That's  my  religion,  ladies!  and  this  is  the  only  one  in 
the  whole  house  !  You  won't  find  another  one  in  any  room 
here  !  There,  ladies  !" 

We  assured  him  that  the  dear  crucified  Lord  was  our  God, 
and  that  it  was  in  memory  of  that  cross  that  we  tried  to  do 
all  we  could  in  a  neighborly  way  for  those  around  us. 

"  Say  !  say  !  "  shouted  the  woman,  "  can  you  bless  yerself 
in  Latin  ?  Can  you  ?  Listen  ?  "  and  in  the  loudest  soprano 

90 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  91 

she  proceeded  to  do  so,  while  the  others  watched  to  see  the 
effect  of  this  learning  upon  us.  I  glanced  around  the  room. 
It  was  dirty  and  in  a  state  of  chaos.  In  the  inner  room 
kindling  wood  and  filthy  bedding  were  mixed  in  a  ruined  pile. 
But  my  thoughts  were  speedily  brought  back. 

"  Now  I  tell  yer  I  don't  want  yer  !  I've  got  my  praste  !  " 
Here  we  interrupted. 

"  Yes,  we  don't  say  anything  about  your  priest  or  your  re- 
ligion, except  that  you  should  do  as  your  priest  tells  you.  He 
does  not  tell  you  to  get  drunk  and  sin  and  live  like  this.  You 
are  not  a  good  Catholic.  That's  the  trouble.  We  want  to 
help  people  to  be  good  and  serve  God  ;  and  we  don't  say 
that  it  is  the  name  that  is  wrong,  but  the  life." 

"And  then  with  a  few  parting  words  of  assurance  that 
we  did  not  come  there  to  preach  at  or  to  anger  them,  but 
only  to  cheer  or  help  them  and  to  say  a  kind  word,  we 
parted. 

CHRISTIANITY,  LIFE  NOT  CREED. 

Down  the  dirty  staircase  we  tramped — heartsick  and 
tired— reflecting  with  sorrow  on  the  fact  that  in  slumdom,  as 
in  society,  people  haggle  over  the  name,  the  creed,  the 
belief,  and  neglect  the  essence  of  religion — the  life. 

Catholics,  Protestants,  infidels,  alike  we  visit  in  these 
sinful,  wretched  haunts,  and  to  all  our  message  is  the  same. 
It  is  goodness,  pureness,  that  alone  can  make  life  happy, 
prosperous  and  peaceful  here — and  the  future  Heaven  ours. 
And  then  we  show  them  how  the  death  and  love  of  Christ 
can  make  it  possible  for  us  to  live  such  a  life. 

By  patient,  loving  work — washing  of  dirty  children,  nurs- 
ing of  sick  ones,  comforting  of  those  in  sorrow — the  slum 
workers  give  them  a  practical  object  lesson  in  what  religion 
really  is.  We  had  visited  newcgmers  to  the  district  that  day 


92  NEW  YORK'S  INFEKNO. 

who  did  not  know  us,  hence  our  warm  reception — for  in 
hundreds  of  poor  homes  the  girls  are  welcomed  as  "  angels  of 
light."  Aye,  and  even  sent  for  at  all  hours  when  there 
is  trouble  or  sickness. 

Again  we  found  ourselves  in  the  street,  and  the  fresh  air 
was  indeed  welcome.  I  felt  sick  and  so  tired  that  my  steps 
were  unsteady,  and  I  had  to  take  my  companion's  arm  and 
brace  up  for  fear  of  appearing  as  staggering  as  our  neighbors 
are  wont  to  be  on  Sundays. 

On  reaching  our  slum  quarters  we  found  a  man  sitting  at 
the  table  much  enjoying  a  cup  of  warm  coffee  and  some 
bread  and  butter.  He  was  very  poor,  and  his  face  bore 
marks  of  great  suffering,  but  he  was  cheery  and  hopeful. 

SAVED,  ALTHOUGH  A  TRAMP. 

"No,  he  has  not  yet  got  work,  only  odd  jobs  once  in  a 
while." 

There  were  "  an  awful  lot  of  men  hanging  around  out  of 
work "  and  times  were  hard,  but  he  hoped  better  days 
would  dawn  for  him  in  the  coming  week. 

His  face  brightened  as  he  spoke,  and  I  learned  after 
he  had  gone,  that  through  the  words  of  our  officers  he  had 
given  his  heart  to  God,  and  his  life,  so  far  as  sin  and 
drink  were  concerned,  had  shown  a  decided  change  ;  though, 
alas!  he  is  still  in  the  great  army  of  "out-of-works."  He 
came  to  New  York  some  months  ago  as  a  stowaway  on  ship- 
board after  a  long  illness  in  the  hospital  of  a  far  away 
foreign  port.  He  reached  here  homeless,  friendless  and 
moneyless,  and  for  weeks  his  only  shelter  for  the  night  was 
a  pile  of  lumber  behind  which  he  crept.  He  heard  of  our 
workers  and  came  to  them  almost  in  despair,  but  now  the 
despair  is  gone,  though  the  poverty  still  faces  him. 

As  I  laid  aside  ray  ha,t  a,nd,  leaned,  back,  for  a  minute^ 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO.  93 

rest  before  our  mid-day  meal,  I  called  my  companion  to  me 
and  said  : 

"  Now  tell  me  about  that  poor  baby  girl  whose  frightful 
story  I  heard  the  other  day.  Did  she  live  after  the  brutal 
treatment  she  received  ?  " 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  answered, 

"  No  !  poor  little  thing.  She  died  !  The  whole  story  is  a 
pitiful  one  ! " 

And  then  I  heard  the  following  tale  of  poverty  and 
crime  :— 

The  family  lived  in  a  little  back  room  behind  a  small  tin- 
ker store.  When  first  visited  the  mother — only  about  twen- 
ty-four years  of  age — was  found  in  this  little  room  with  two 
children,  one  about  three  years  and  the  other  a  few  months 
old.  Both  of  the  children  were  naked  and  she  had  not  a  gar- 
ment to  put  on  them.  They  were  very  poor,  and,  alas ! 
young  as  she  was,  she  already  was  a  hopeless  drink  victim. 
A  few  more  visits  and  the  store  was  found  vacant ;  but  we 
followed  them  up  and  found  that  the  father  had  had  to  move 
from  the  store  into  a  cellar  and  that  the  mother  and  children 
were  living  in  one  of  the  worst  lodging  houses  of  the  district. 

The  father  was  a  respectable  young  man,  steady  and  hon- 
est, and  tried  to  do  all  he  could  for  the  wife  and  children 
whom  he  really  loved.  But  what  could  he  do  ?  She  was  like 
a  millstone  around  his  neck,  and  the  vile  companionship  of 
the  lodging  house  made  her  sink  lower  rapidly. 

One  night  he  called  at  our  quarters  in  despair.  Tears  were 
coursing  down  his  face,  and  he  said  : — 

"  I  can't  tell  what  to  do  for  my  wife  !  She  is  nearly  mad  { 
Can  I  bring  her  to  you  ?  " 

On  receiving  an  answer  in  the  affirmative,  he  hurried  out 

into  the  night  and  soon  returned  with  the  woman,     Wjldlv 

•  -•  v 


NEW  YORK'S  INFERNO. 


she  paced  up  and  down  the  room  groaning  in  some  'unutter- 
able agony,  and  every  now  and  then  shrieking  and  talking 
incoherently.  What  was  it  ?  Our  girls  looked  at  her  in 
wonder. 

For  a  minute  or  two  she  would  seem  calm,  and  looking  up 
into  the  faces  around  her  she  would  say  : — 

"  Oh,  you're  so  good — so  good,  and  I'm  so  bad — so  bad. 
Don't  despise  me.  Don't  give  me  up  because  I'm  so  bad.  Oh, 
help  me — help  me  !  For  God's  sake  help  me  !  " 

And  then  she  would  start  wildly  up  and  shriek  again. 

Suddenly  it  dawned  upon  our  girls  that  the  first  symp- 
toms of  delirium  tremens  were  manifested  thus.  Telling  her 
husband  to  get  her  home  and  to  bed  as  soon  as  he  could  they 
went  out  with  him  to  see  her  safely  home,  and  to  get  the  two 
children,  whom  they  had  promised  to  keep  while  she  was  at 
the  hospital.  After  she  came  out  again  she  came  for  the 
children.  They  were  kept  in  the  nursery  by  day  and  she 
came  and  fetched  them  at  night. 


"DRUNK   AGAIN." 

Often  she  would  sit  with  despair  written  upon  her  hag- 
gard face,  sobbing, 


NEW  YORK*S  INFERNO. 


"Oh,  my  Gracie,  my  Mamie  I  My  Gracie,  my  Mamie  !  My 
poor,  poor  children  !" 

And  yet,  with  all  her  desire  to  be  good,  the  fiend  seemed 
to  have  a  firm  grip  upon  this  poor  victim.  Again,  late  one 
night,  she  came  to  the  girls  in  the  throes  of  delirium.  They 
could  not  turn  her  out,  for  she  pitifully  clung  to  them  and 
pleaded  with  them  to  keep  her.  So  they  locked  her  into  one 
of  their  little  rooms,  taking  from  her  anything  with  which 
she  could  commit  suicide,  and  there  through  the  dread  night 
they  watched  and  cared  for  her. 

HOPE  EVEN  FOR  SUCH   AS  THIS  AND  THOUSANDS 
MORE. 

Her  youngest  child  is  in  the  sunny  land  where  no  sorrows 
dwell.  The  husband  in  despair  has  given  up  the  hope  of  ever 
reclaiming  his  poor,  drink-ridden  young  wife  and  has  left  her. 
Still  many,  many  such  despairing  ones  are  being  reclaimed 
and  their  lives  brightened  by  a  power  even  stronger  than  the 
infernal  chains  that  bind  them. 

Other  stories,  other  scenes  and  sights  rise  up  before  me, 
but  I  can  write  no  more.  I  have  come  back  into  the  rush 
and  whirl  of  the  busy  life  of  the  city  ;  but  still  down  in  the 
darkness  are  working  ten  true,  brave,  loving  girls  day  and 
night  facing  scenes  such  as  I  have  described,  and  sometimes 
even  far  more  terrible  ones  than  these.  It  is  difficult  for  me 
to  shake  off  the  experience. 

It  is  now  over,  and  I  am  trying  to  write  sounds  and  sights 
which  still  surge  to  and  fro  in  my  memory.  But  as  I  look 
back  over  the  pages  I  have  written,  I  feel  it  is  hopeless  to 
reproduce  that  which  must  be  seen  and  felt  and  heard  to  be 
understood. 

No  wonder  our  hearts  ache  !  No  wonder  we  long  to  do 
more,  far  more,  in  the  future  than  we  have  ever  done  in  the 


NEW  YOKK*S  INFEBNO. 


past  to  alleviate  this  suffering,  this  raging  stream  of  vice, 
and  to  raise  these  fallen  ones,  to  speak  hope  to  the  hopeless, 
and  bring  sunshine  into  the  darkness  and  horror  of  New 
York's  hell. 


FINIS. 


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98  THE  ARMY'S  STANDING  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

THE     SALVATION     ARMY'S     STANDING     IN     THE      UNITED 
STATES. 

JANUARY,    1891. 

Number  of  Corps  and  Outposts 445 

Number  of  Officers 1,150 

Combined  Weekly  Circulation  of  three  War  Crys — 

New  York  and  San  Francisco,   and  Swedish 

War  Cry  (New  York) 53,000 

Number  of  States  occupied 35 

Number  of  Hours  spent  by  Officers  in  Visitation 

during  1890 389,000 

Number  of  Families  Visited  by  Officers  during  1890       547,000 
Number  of  Persons  Professing  Conversion  between 

December  1,  1889,  and  December  1,   1890 23,562 

Number  of  Open-air  Services  during  1890 46,800 

Number  of  Persons  estimated   as  Attending  our 

Open-air  Meetings,  1890 4,000,000 

Number  of  Persons  Attending  our  Meetings  during 

October,  1890 1,070,000 

Number  of    Persons    Attending  Meetings  during 

the  Year 12,000,000 

Rescue  Homes 

Slum  Posts 2 

Training  Garrisons  at  New  York,  Brooklyn,  Boston 

(2),  Detroit,   Grand  Rapids,   Englewood,   111., 

Des  Moines,  Omaha,  Oakland,  Cal.,   and  San 

Francisco 10 


NEW   YORK'S  INFERNO.  99 


ISTOTIOIE    ! 


SYMPATHY     MATERIALIZED. 

HOW     ALMOST    ANYBODY     MAY    AID    THE 
SALVATION  ARMY  WORK. 

No  one  who  has  not  been  engaged  in  this  work  can  under- 
stand how  much  help  is  needed  to  carry  it  on  successfully 
year  after  year.  We  realize  that  many  who  cannot  possibly 
give  their  lives  up  to  seek  and  personally  administer  comfort 
to  the  poor,  long  to  do  something,  and  yet  possibly  they  also 
find  themselves  financially  unable  to  assist  much  those  who 
are  doing  the  work.  This  may  lead  them  to  feel  that  their 
interest  will  havfi  to  end  in  mere  sympathy  ;  but  this  need 
not  be. 

Our  workers  are  all  the  time  in  need  of  clothing  for  women 
and  children.  Babies  with  absolutely  nothing  to  cover  them, 
or  else  with  clothing  so  filthy  that  it  has  to  be  burned  before 
we  can  take  them  in,  are  met  with  daily,  and  the  cast-off 
garments  of  more  fortunate  little  ones  would  be  indeed  a 
blessing  to  them.  If  any  of  the  readers  of  the  Herald  would 
like  to  send  parcels  of — to  them  useless — clothes,  address  to 
111  Reade  street,  New  York  City.  We  can  promise  to  use 
them  to  the  best  advantage  in  bringing  comfort  where  it  is 
most  needed. 

May  we  also  add  that  never  in  the  history  of  our  movement 
in  this  country  could  we  make  a  better  use  of  money  for  the 
practical  advancement  of  work  among  the  poor  than  at  the 
present  time.  Those  who  cannot  go  themselves  into  the 
darkness  of  New  York's  hell  to  rescue  its  victims,  who  cannot 
visit  the  saloons  or  stem  the  tide  of  godless  debauchery  that 
is  devastating  our  country,  can,  by  proxy,  reach  forth  the 
hand  of  sympathy  by  giving  us  the  means  to  do  it.  Let  us 
remind  those  who  are  interested  in  "  New  York's  inferno  "  of 
the  words,  "  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  one  of  the 
least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  Me." 

Believe  us.  yours  truly  in  the  holy  war, 

BALLINGTON  BOOTH. 
MAUD  B.  BOOTH. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


BENEATH  TWO  FLAGS: 

THE  AIM,  METHODS  OF  WORK  AND  HISTORY  OF 

THE  SALVATION  ARMY. 


Illustrated,  12mo.,  doth,  288  pp.  Price  $1,  post  free. 

—  » 

This  volume  furnishes  its  readers  with  every  needful  partic- 
ular concerning  this  growing  organization  of  over  1,000,000 
adherents,  which,  having  spread  out  its  branches  throughout 
Great  Britain,  is  making  rapid  progress  also  in  the  United 
States. 


THE 


WAR 


CRY, 


THE  OFFICIAL  GAZETTE  OF  THE  SALVATION  ARMY, 

Consists  of  sixteen  pages,    sixty-four  columns,    with   illustrations, 

and  contains  the  latest  intelligence  of  the  progress  of  the  Salvation 

Army  work  in  ALL  PARTS  OF  THE  WORLD  ; 

Stories  of  Wonderful  Conversions  ;    Original  Salva- 
tion Songs  ;  Lives  of  Prominent  Salvation 
Officers, 

WITH  PORTRAITS  AND  OTHER  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

EVERY     SATURDAY. 

Price  5c.  ;  Yearly  Subscription,  $2.00    postpaid. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


"  Popular  Christianity." 

BEING  A 

SERIES    OF    LECTURES 

DELIVERED  IN  PRINCE'S  HALL,  PICCADILLY,  LONDON. 
BY     MRS.     GENERAL     BOOTH, 

ON   THE   FOLLOWING   SUBJECTS  : 

The  Christs  of  the  Nineteenth  Century  Compared  with  the 
Christ  of  God  ;  A  Mock  Salvation  and  a  Real  Deliverance 
from  Sin  ;  Sham  Compassion  and  the  Dying  Love  of  Christ  : 
Popular  Christianity  :  Its  Cowardly  Service  versus  the  Real 
Warfare  ;  The  Sham  Judgment  in  Contrast  with  the  Great 
White  Throne  ;  Notes  of  Three  Addresses  on  Household  Gods: 

The  Salvation  Army  following  Christ. 
198  pages.     Paper   Cover,   40c.  ;  Cloth  Boards,  75c. 

"THE  MUSICAL  PIONEER," 

Containing  106  pages. 

CLOTH  COVER,  50  CENTS  ;  PAPER,  25  CENTS. 

NO  HOME  SHOULD  BE  WITHOUT  ONE  OF  THESE  HAND- 
SOME   VOLUMES. 

It  is  the  Cheapest  Work  of  this  Description  we  have 
ever  issued. 

"THE  MUSICAL  SALVATIONIST." 

A    Monthly    Magazine,    containing    Compositions    mostly  by    Officers  and 
Soldiers  of  the  Salvation  Army. 

MONTHLY,  10  CENTS;       $1.00  PER  YEAR. 

Volumes  1,  2,  3  and  4,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  are  also 
ready  ;  Price  $1.00  per  volume. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


ALL  THE  WORLD  : 

A  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE 

OF 

THE    SALVATION     ARMY. 

It  contains   Eighty   Pages,   Highly  Illustrated,    with 
Lithographed  Cover. 

This  Magazine  is  the  representative  organ  of  Salvation  Army 
life  and  work  in  all  lands,  and  gives  regular  accounts  of  our  Conti- 
nental Warfare,  as  well  as  the  latest  information  of  Army  work 
amongst  the  heathen  nations. 

Price,  Single  Copy,   15  cts.  ;    $1.50  per  year. 

PUBLISHED  AT  SALVATION  ARMY  HEADQUARTERS  :  111  READE 

STREET,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 

THE^SOLDIERS7    MKNUHL; 

— OR— 

PIETY    AND     PRACTICE. 

BY     COMMISSIONER     BALLINGTON      BOOTH. 

Has  only  to  be  seen  and  read  to  be  appreciated. 
Price    only    15    cents     and     20   cents.,    postpaid. 

NEWSPAPERS  AND  JOURNALS. 

All  the  World  (monthly),  15c.  per  copy  ;  post  free, 

per  year $1  50 

The  Deliverer,  the  organ  of  The  Salvation  Army  Rescue 

Work,  per  vear .* no 

The  War  Cry  (frevv  York).  5c..  yearly 2  00 


(San  Francisco), 
Strids  Ropet  (Swedish^,  3c. 
The  War  Cry  (London),  5c., 
"      "       "    (Toronto),  5c., 
En  Avant  (French),  5c.. 
Der  Kriegsruf  (German-Swiss),  5c. 


2  00 

1  '.».-> 

2  00 
2  Od 
2  00 
2  00 


WHAT  IS  AN  AUXILIARY  ? 


There  are  many  members  of  the  community  who  view  with  sor- 
row and  pity  the  misery  and  vice  to  be  seen  on  every  hand.  Not 
a  few  of  these  are  occupied  themselves  in  evangelistic  work,  while 
others  do  not  profess,  or  even  possess  religion  of  any  kind. 

Although  such  friends  cannot  be  soldiers  in  The  Army,  they 
can  help  us  with  means  and  sympathy  and  influence  in  our  efforts 
ro  deal  with  evil  ;  and  this  rather  more  than  less  perhaps  because 
they  do  not,  by  joining  the  League,  endorse,  or  even  approve  all 
the  methods  we  employ. 

We  rely  upon  the  Auxiliary  League  to  assist  us  by  means  of 
prayer,  sympathy,  influence  and  money. 

We  also  desire  Auxiliaries  to 

Use  their  Personal  Influence 

on  our  behalf,  by  letting  it  be  known  that  they  are  not  against  us, 
and  by  defending  us  from  the  effects  of  many  misrepresentations  of 
ourselves  and  our  motives.  They  can  help  us  by  obtaining  explan- 
ations of  specific  matters,  by  stating  facts  concerning  our  work  to 
their  friends,  or  by  making  communications  to  the  local  press 
calculated  to  remove  false  impressions. 

Auxiliaries  can  help  by  gifts  of  money.  In  the  United  States 
the  cost  of  the  necessary  oversight,  though  kept  down  as  much  as 
possible,  is  very  great.  Help  must  be  given  to  officers  who  require 
rest  on  account  of  sickness  ;  while  the  Slum  work  and  our  Rescue 
operations,  being  only  in  their  infancy  as  yet,  are  unable  to  sustain 
themselves. 

The  annual  subscription  to  the  League  is  Five  Dollars,  and  this 
secures  the  War  Cry  or  All  the  World  and  the  Deliverer,  at  the 
option  of  the  subscriber,  mailed  free  for  twelve  months.  A  hand- 
some leather  badge  is  also  sent  to  each  member,  the  production  of 
which  will  secure  a  hearty  welcome  to  any  gathering  in  any  country , 
and  a  pin  is  also  furnished,  which  can  be  worn  on  the  dress,  show 
it  in  that  way.  Like  the  badge,  it  will  be  recognized  in  any  part  of 
the  world. 

Captain  EDITH  MARSHALL,  who  has  charge  of  the  Auxiliary  De- 
partment, will  be  happy  to  answer  any  inquiries,  or  supply  any 
information  that  members  of  the  League  may  desire  at  any  time. 

All  remittances  should  be  made  out  in  favor  of  BALLINGTON 
BOOTH,  111  READE  ST.,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


From  Ocean  to  Ocean ; 

— OR, — 

The  Salvation  Army's  March  During  1890, 
From  the  Atlantic  to  the  PaeiBe, 

BY    COMMISSIONER     BALLINGTON    BOOTH. 


Price,  Paper,  25  cents  ;  Cloth,  75  cents  ; 
Superior  Cloth  Binding,  $1.00. 

PUBLISHED  AT  SALVATION  ARMY  HEADQUARTERS  :  111  EEADE 

STREET,  NEW  YORK  CITY, 
And  may  be  obtained  from  any  Salvation  Army  Officer. 

IN  DARKEST  ENGLAND 

AND  THE  WAY  OUT. 


IB  IT      G-  IE  UST  E  IR  .A.  H      TB  O  O  T 


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list  of  individual  subscribers  to  its  appeal,  at  Salvation  Head- 
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